


Vacillancy

by FuryNZ



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Car Accidents, Coma, Dreams vs. Reality, Epic Bromance, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryNZ/pseuds/FuryNZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A car accident leaves Dean injured, comatose and mentally torn between a medieval dream with elements of his latest acting job and flashes of reality.  He's off on a journey that he can't understand, with people that aren't who they should be, and a subconscious that won't shut up and leave him alone.  But what's real and what isn't, how much will one world affect the other, and will he survive both dream and reality?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Leaves

Dean blinked his eyes open; the world was spinning. _Clockwise._ His world was spinning clockwise. It would spin about 120 degrees, then reset to what he thought was true, and spin again. He watched with interest as the plant in front of him kept moving. It could be quite beautiful if it wasn’t for the fact that it was, well, wrong, and his head was throbbing.

The air was cool and tall trees loomed around, but he seemed to be on a worn path. He was on his stomach, in mud and leaves. There was the trickle of a stream nearby and he pressed his palms to the wet leaves and tried to push himself up. Something heavy was on his back, and he laid back down, weakly grasping at it; it was cold and metal. He tugged; it was attached to him. 

“What the-” he mumbled, before a voice sounded. 

“M’Lord, I have one! I found one!”

Thank god. Wait, what did he say?

“Be silent and get him!”

“He’s down, m’lord, he’s not fighting.”

There were thumping noises - were those horses coming at him? Dean finally managed to lift himself into a sitting position, looking down to find the cold metal object was chainmail. What the hell was he doing wearing chainmail? The horses approached rapidly, and he looked up, startled as three men approached, wearing similar armaments. They wore chainmail and plate armor, and carried swords. To the side was a scruffy man in leather, holding a short sword, holding it towards Dean. On his back was a crossbow. The man in leather glanced up at the three on horseback.

“See, m’lord? He’s dazed, he’s lost his wits. No fight in this one.”

Dean looked at all of the wearily, closing his eyes. _I was in the car with Aidan. We were driving-_

Two sets of hands roughly grabbed under his arms, yanking him to his feet. He cried out in surprise, not realizing how sore his legs were until he was forced to stand on them. _I was in the car with Aidan. We were driving-_

“Too slow, my Prince,” the one man still on horseback looked down. “Where is your brother?”

Dean looked up. He wore a silver breastplate over a close knit chainmail; a large scabbard clung to his hip. His hair was a light brown, and his scowl menacing. Dean shook his head and just looked at him. None of this made sense. _I was in the car with-_

A hand slapped hard against his cheek. “Fuck!” Dean shouted, wincing. “What the hell is going on?”

The man, the apparent leader, was in front of him slipping his glove back over his hand. “So you do have a voice. And what language, here I thought you were a Prince of Erebor.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m no prince. I’m an actor, mate. What sort of sick joke is this? Aidan, did you set these people up to this? Jimmy? Martin! It’s not funny anymore! Who the fuck are you people?” _Why is my head throbbing and my legs so sore?_

The two soldiers looked to their Lord, Dean straining against their hold on his arms. “An amusing game, my Prince. You play the part of the fool so well,” he said, reaching into the grass near Dean and lifting a sword. 

Dean glanced at it, feeling a pang of familiarity. Fili’s sword? Surely not. His mind was playing tricks on him. _Am not._

The leader continued around the path, reaching down to pick up another one. “Here they are,” he smiled, hefting the weight around. “Such fine weapons. Fit for a Prince. Even though you deny it.”

Dean growled and pulled at the two soldiers holding him in place. “What sort of crude joke is this,” he growled. “Let me go!” _How did I get here?_

The leader circled, suddenly wrapping his hands into Dean’s hair and wrenching his head back. “We’ll get to the bottom of this game,” he muttered. “And the King will pay handsomely for the return of the Crown Prince, will he not?” Dean, angry now, snarled. They were taking this too far. “Bind him to my horse, knock him to sleep, and find the other,” the man said, swiftly remounting his steed.

Dean struggled as the man in leather came over, grasping his wrists and tying a leather strand around them; he fought but the other two soldiers held him in an iron grip. And why did he hurt so much? He growled at his own pathetic efforts, his muscles refusing to cooperate.

“Stop it,” Dean cried out. He looked up to see the man in leather hefting up the the hilt of his sword, drawing it back. “Wait!” Dean cried out, but the pommel smacked into his head and blackness took over.

* * *

Dean woke again in a small stone cell. The world was spinning again. Still clockwise, he realized, finding some relief in that. He sat up against the wall, looking around; it was fairly dark but some flickering light came through the small window in the door. There was a bucket in the corner, and a mound of straw along the wall he sat on. It was damp and musty, and the air was cool. Steadying himself against the wall, Dean stood and moved to the metal door, peering through the metal bars. Another cell was across the hall, but Dean otherwise could see little in his field of view. “Hello?” he called out. “Is anybody there?” His voice echoed down a corridor, otherwise he heard nothing.

He sank down into the straw, holding out his arms and looking at his legs. The chainmail was gone; he wore a soft tan tunic over leather breeches. The leather boots were buckled around his feet, and he pulled up a leg, looking at them curiously, when his fingers slid over a hard handle. Twisting his foot and ankle slightly for a better look, he glimpsed a hard handle hidden in the fur of the boot. He reached for it, gently sliding it out and found an impressively designed knife with a bone handle; a red gem inlaid in the hilt. It was beautiful, and very sharp. And whoever had found him on the path didn’t know he had it.

The creak of a metal door roused him again, and he quickly slid it back in its hiding place, pressing the fur of the boot back over it. He clasped his hands over his knees and waited; he hadn’t long until a key clanged against this door, and moments later it opened. Two men, dressed in red and black, stood in the doorway.

“Come. The other has been found and our High Lord wishes to see you both.”

“Who?” Dean asked, rising to his feet. One of the men walked into roughly grasp his arm, pulling him through the door, giving him a blank stare.

“Ignore him,” the other said. “He pretends he is ignorant.”

Dean shook his head, regretting it as the spinning world returned. Another hand grasped his other arm, and he was pulled along, up the stone stairs and finally into larger corridors with more natural light. The two men kept a firm grip and he was certain his arms would be bruised by the time they let him go. At the end of the corridor was a large, double door, and he was pulled through into a large, spacious hall. Wooden trusses were visible above, and narrow windows allowed natural light to filter through. A platform held three ornately carved chairs with cushions of red and black. Tapestries and banners lined the wall, and over the platform was a beautiful stained glass window, showing men around the base of a tall, singular mountain.

“Kneel,” one of them two guard escorting him instructed, and he was pushed to his knees before the platform and three chairs. Only then did he turn his attention to the occupants. The man with the light brown hair who had found him in the woods sat in one of the smaller side chairs; he glanced at Dean with disdain, turning his head back towards the door. He was probably a little younger than Dean, but carried himself with authority. In the large chair sat an older man, hair white and a magnificent beard reaching down to his belt. Dean suddenly found his eyes meeting those of the older man, and he resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. No, that would be childish. And probably stupid. _But fun._

“My Lord,” the voice by the door called, and both the older and younger man turned their heads to see; Dean followed suit. The doors were still open, and the scruffy man in leather came through, followed by two men in chainmail. The dragged along a man dressed in a navy-colored leather vest and pants; a burlap sack over his head and his hands bound behind him. The man didn’t fight and Dean guessed the other person was unconscious. 

“Very good,” the white-haired Lord rumbled, standing. “Remove the sack so I may gaze upon his pathetic visage,” he commanded, and the guards went to work at the knots keeping the sack in place. Dean sat placidly, eyes glancing between the guards and the High Lord. In his mind, he was still extremely confused about where he was, and why. _I was in the car with Aidan. We were driving to Middlemarch-_

The sack finally came off, and in the corner of Dean’s eye the figure slumped down to the floor. He turned and gasped. Red scratches covered the pale face, an eye was swollen closed. But otherwise the curly, dark hair and features were obvious.

“Aidan!” Dean suddenly crawled over, reaching him and pulling the lolling head into his lap. “Oh god, Aidan!” He glanced down, shaking him gently and his mouth fell open. Dean gently turned his onto his side, placing him into a recovery position, keeping his head resting on Dean’s shin and feeling for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. “Fuckin’ hell, Aidan,” Dean whispered. “What happened?”

The lord’s voice rumbled behind Dean but he didn’t turn to it. “I told you not to hurt them,” he growled. “Who is responsible for this!?”

“We found him like this, M’Lord,” the scruffy man said. “He put up a weak fight, and we might have bruised his eye,” he admitted. “But the scrapes were already there!”

“Then remove yourself from my sight before your face resembles his!” The scruffy man quickly departed out without another word. Dean glanced over to see the white-haired Lord stand, watching him and Aidan on the floor; four guards stood near to Dean but did not come closer. “So,” the High Lord continued, “the Princes of Erebor,” he smiled and looked over the pair.

“Father, they feign ignorance.”

“Is that true, Crown Prince Fili?’

Dean startled at the naming of his character. “What? What the fuck you talking about, mate?”

The younger lord stood, swiftly walking across the hall to grasp Dean by the shoulder, turn him and backhand him hard across the cheek. Dean fell back to the floor beside Aidan, just managing to keep the brunet’s head on his leg, and holding up a hand to his red cheek. “What the-” The guards around him closed him, two grasping his arms and pulling him away from Aidan, whose head fell from Dean’s leg into the floorboards. “Aidan!” Dean shouted, trying to reach his friend. 

“Take the young one to a chamber and see to his wounds,” the Lord commanded. “Take the Crown Prince to the interrogation room. I’ll see to him myself.” Dean struggled against the hands wrapping around his arms, trying to get back to Aidan; but it was no use. These men were strong, and he looked at their armor and weapons; it was likely they’d been carrying them for far longer than he’d been swinging fake movie swords. He finally stopped resisting once Aidan was carried out, away from his sight, and allowed the men to lead him out. He’d wake up soon. But why did Aidan feel so real? Why did the hands feel so real?

_I was in the car with Aidan. We were driving to Middlemarch and it was raining. There was some loose aggregate on the road where it had recently been resealed. I braked around the corner, but hit water and stone. The car skidded, and -_


	2. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has a beginning and end and an approximate middle. Unlike my other stories, I won't be finishing this before I publish it. It'll go up as I add to it, so updates may be a little more drawn out, but I'd like to try and get one a week minimum. Feel free to hound me if I don't stick to that goal.

Dean was certain he’d wake soon. He didn’t panic when the guards pulled him into a small chamber with stone walls; bigger than the cell he’d been confined in before, but otherwise similar. The door was metal with bars, the room had no windows. Sconces lined the walls, torches within them illuminating the room. There was a rack, knives, an iron maiden, thumbscrews, and several other medieval torture devices. Dean had seen it all in a museum before. He wasn’t worried, because this wasn’t real. _Why did Aidan feel so real beside me? Dean, what if-_

He tried to shake the thought, but his subconsciousness wasn’t having any of it, and kept sputtering images and words at him. _I was in the car with Aidan. We were driving to Middlemarch and it was raining. There was some loose aggregate on the road where it had recently been resealed. I braked around the corner, but hit water and stone. The car skidded, and -_

The memory was only soothing at this moment because it reminded him that he was in a dream. Something had happened, this was a dream. He didn’t flinch when they sat him in a sturdy-backed chair, tying his hands to it and his feet to the legs. They couldn’t hurt him; it was a dream. You always woke up before they kill you in a dream, right? _What if they only_ hurt _you._ It was a dream. He was going to morph into the Incredible Hulk and smash them all. It would be hilarious. He gritted his teeth and waited for it.

_I was in the car with Aidan. We were driving to Middlemarch and it was raining. There was some loose aggregate on the road where it had recently been resealed. I braked around the corner, but hit water and stone. The car skidded, and -_

Dean groaned, screwing his eyes shut and twisting his head. _Listen to me, Dean._ The door opened, and the tall lord with the white hair and long bear entered. He had changed from his finery into something more practical, Dean noted. That was good of him; Dean felt more at ease when nobody was dressed up. He hated formal functions. The fake smiling, and cameras, the same question twenty times over. The guards bowed and stepped back to the door. Were they remaining just for Dean? In case he fought back, of course. Dean laughed. He was flattered.

“You are unusually jubilant for a man bound to a chair,” the Lord said, walking in front of Dean. “At the mercy of somebody else.”

“It’s just a dream,” Dean replied, still confident in his assessment of the situation. “It’s not real. You’re not real. I’m going to wake up soon enough, because all of this is ridiculous. I was in the car with Aidan. We were-”

The fist caught him in the temple, and Dean’s head whipped back and upright again. He blinked, dazed. _He could see the road in front of him. It was raining, but not that hard. They’d missed the turn off for Dunedin, where the rest of the Dwarf actors agreed to meet for lunch in the Octagon. Aidan laughed and told Dean they’d pick up a pie from the nearest dairy instead. Dean had agreed, and glanced around at the undulating landscape; green hills with well worn tracks from stock meandering about. The road winded around the hills comfortably, and he leaned back in the driver’s seat, sparing a glance at Aidan who stared out the window. Dean glanced down at the speedometer, and found he was going well under the speed limit. The rain came down heavier, and -_

Another fist collided with the side of Dean’s head. “I will ask you one last time; then my methods will not be so kind, Prince of Erebor.” Dean shook his head from side to side. The clockwise spin returned. He laughed. It was always clockwise. Just over ninety degrees again, then it reset itself and spun clockwise. Dean laughed again. “Insolent fool,” the Lord said. “Open his tunic and bring me a hot iron,” the man said. Somehow, Dean’s brain latched onto this. Wasn’t he supposed to ask him one last time? What happened to one last time? 

_I was in the car with Aidan. We were driving to Middlemarch and it was raining. There was some loose aggregate on the road where it had recently been resealed. I braked around the corner, but hit water and stone. The car skidded, and Dean applied the brake. It locked. It wasn’t supposed to lock, don’t cars have anti-lock braking systems? Dean grasped the wheel -_

The searing pain against his stomach jolted him back into the small interrogation room. Dean howled in agony and looked down. When had they cut his tunic open? Where had the red hot iron come from? Was that his flesh _burning?_ Why wasn’t he waking up? 

“Fili,” the looming man said, raising the hot poker close to his face. “Tell me what Thorin’s plans are. Why were you and your brother sent to these lands?”

“Richard?” Dean asked, confused, pulling back from the hot metal so near to his chin. “What has Richard got to do with anything? He was going to have lunch with the others. In Dunedin. Where’s Aidan?” Dean stared up at man who gazed down with fury pulsing in his blue eyes. “Who are you anyway?”

The man sneered, and the hot iron was pressed against Dean’s chest, near to the collarbone. It was a fair bit cooler, but it still sizzled into his skin and the putrid odor of burning flesh filled Dean’s nose. His burning flesh. An involuntary scream left his lips, and the clockwise spin was back. Dean leaned into its strange comfort. Why wouldn’t he wake?

The Lord threw the metal into the bucket of water, steam pouring off. “He’s useless in this state. Take him to the room where his brother is. Have the burns treated. I will not having them infected and being taken by death until I know what the King is doing in these parts.”

Dean lifted his chin, long enough to see the two guards rounding on him, one holding out a knife. He flinched and pulled back, but the man disappeared behind him. Moments later his hands fell to his sides, shoulders aching. The bonds around his ankles fell loose, and he was hauled to his feet, and tried to stand. They didn’t give him time to find his balance, and pulled him forward until his toes dragged along. Why did they have to grip his arms like that? Why wasn’t he waking up?

He was pulled into a corridor, cool air hitting his chest and he winced as the two burns on his torso stung momentarily; then relaxed as the breezes caressed the wounds, and the skin cooled. _I was in the car with Aidan. We were driving to Middlemarch and -_

“Where’s Aidan?” he asked, groggily. The two men ignored him, and he reached a door held closed by a metal clasp; two guards sat in chairs on either side. One opened the clasp, swinging the door opened. The room was small, with a tall narrow window on the opposite side a fire roaring on one side wall. On the opposite wall was a large, four poster bed. California king size? It was fairly large; probably. Did they have sizes in medieval times? Aidan. Aidan! He was laying on the far side of the bed, eyes closed, two elderly women hovering over him and putting something on the cuts on his face.

A guard shoved Dean forward, and then kept a hand on his shoulder until he was pushed down onto the bed. “This one has been burned,” the guard pulled at Dean’s torn tunic until the elderly women nodded. “You will treat his burns as well. He is also delirious and witless, and may speak strangely.” The guard gave Dean a shove until he tipped into the pillows. They were nice, very soft. Even better than his ones at home. His subconscious spoke up, interrupting his conscious thoughts again. _Home. Auckland. Terrible traffic on the motorway. But if you took the turnoff before Greenlane, you could avoid -_

A cool cloth rested on his forehead, and he focused his eyes. The woman with the straggly white hair smiled at him. “Gonna clean yer burns,” she said, and he nodded. Her face was wrinkled and marked with brown spots. Melanoma. Not enough sunscreen. New Zealand had a high rate of melanoma; people didn’t treat the sun with enough respect. But she smiled down anyway while she pushed aside the tunic and touched his collarbone. She seemed nice enough, like an old grandmother hovering over with freshly baked pies. 

_“We’ll just stop at a dairy and grab some pies,” Aidan said. “We can get to the set a little early and have a snooze.” Aidan smiled with his usual cheeky grin, drumming his fingers against the rental car’s dashboard, next to the little sticker reminding drivers to ‘Please Keep Left’. Not much of a problem for Dean, but good for foreigners who may not be used to that side of the road. Aidan hummed and began to look through the glove compartment._

“Aidan!” he bolted upright in the bed and glanced over. Aidan was there, a soft snore emanating from his lips. A few of the cuts on his face appeared to have been stitched, and some sort of cream had been rubbed into all of them. His eye was still swollen shut, but his sleep was calm, rhythmic, and peaceful. He shouldn’t be worried though. This was a dream. This wasn’t Aidan, just a figment of his imagination. Aidan wasn’t hurt, he was- 

_The car skidded, and Aidan shouted. Dean turned the wheel, and the car slid sideways towards a concrete barrier, trees lining the valley beyond it, and -_

“Aidan?” He tried to lean over to see his friend. It may be a dream, but it still hurt to see him injured. He reached out with his hand, finding Aidan’s and grasping it, shaking it gently. “Aidan? You good mate?”

“Quiet, young Prince,” the second woman said; she was a little younger than the crone hovering over his burns, hair mostly white but a few dark strands still shone through. She still sat with Aidan, tending to more cuts along his arm. Dean hadn’t seen those. “He needs his rest, as do you. Our Lord is not a merciful man, and if you were anyone else he would have crushed the life from both of you by now. Rest and you may yet find the strength to escape this wretched place.” She fixed him with a hard, meaningful stare, and whispered. “Some may come for you, soon.”

Dean fell back into the pillows, and the older woman’s hand came up to his chin. “Dun worry,” she said, whistling through missing teeth as she spoke. “He be well. He healin’. Rest. Heal.” she said, gently stroking at his forehead like his Mum used to do when he was young and the monsters under his bed wouldn’t leave. He leaned into the old woman’s touch and fell asleep quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to follow me blogging about my writing (and a few other random things), I'm hanging out at furynz.tumblr.com.


	3. Butter Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to plot an escape, and a longer memory emerges.

_Dean, wake up. I think I remember. Are you listening to me? Dean? Let me show you._

_The car skidded, and Aidan shouted. Dean turned the wheel, and the car slid sideways towards a concrete barrier, trees lining the valley beyond it, and then hit the kerb, and turned, flying over the concrete rail, only managing to chip it. The white rental car spun through air, thrashing the occupants and -_

Dean’s eyes shot open, and he looked left. Aidan. Still asleep. He’s done nothing but sleep, that can’t be good. Is he really here? The two women were gone, and the fire was dwindling. The shutter over the small window was closed. He shifted in the bed, letting out a soft gasp as the bandages on his stomach and collar bone rubbed against the burns below. He grimaced, reaching up a hand to press on the bandage. It really was there. Really burned. _No Dean, listen-_

He swung his feet over the side, standing and moving to the window. Pulling the shutter open, he found it was incredibly dark outside - no lights, no moon, no stars. Listening carefully, he could eventually hear soft raindrops hitting the ground below the window. He felt around the window; it was far too narrow for him to fit through. Or Aidan. 

Dean moved back to the bedside, taking one of Aidan’s limp hands into his own. “Aidan? Are you okay? Aiiiiidaaaan.” When his friend didn’t reply, Dean sat down with a 'hmph' in the chair beside him. He frowned as the bandages rubbed the burns, and rolled his shoulder back to try and find a more comfortable position. “Aidan,” he said again. “I’m not really sure what’s going on, but I’ll try to explain. Just pretend you’re real and listening, okay?” Dean reached out and tilted Aidan’s chin up and down to simulate a nod for his own gratification, but Aidan’s face contorted with pain and he pulled the hand away guiltily. “Sorry. I really didn’t mean that. I’m sorry,” his shoulders sagged. “I’m not sure what’s going on. I woke up on this path in the forest. I had chainmail on! They took it while I was knocked out. They brought us both back to this place...it’s like a castle or something. And they said you were already hurt, but one guy gave you the black eye, which made the high lord angry, and then he burned me, and then he brought us in here, and here we are. And I keep seeing images of us in a car. Which makes more sense, but it’s really...hazy. Aidan, can you remember what happened?” he sighed and slumped against the chair.

“No, but if you grab my chin again I’m gonna smack you. Bloody hurts.”

“Aidan!” _Are you sure it’s him?_ “Is it really you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. _You really going to settle for that? Could be lying._ Why would he lie? “Thank god you’re here with me. I just don’t know what’s happening, and...can you open your eyes? It’s really odd that you haven’t opened your eyes yet.” _Because something is wrong. I was in the car with Aidan. We were driving to Middlemarch and it was -_

“Because my eye is swollen shut, you egg,” Aidan replied. “But I think I can open the other one. Is it open?” Dean peered over, and sure enough one eye was open, the pupil dilated enormously with a small dark brown iris peering around the edges. “Is it open?” 

“Yeah, it’s - can’t you see?”

“Fuzzy. Some light. There’s somebody in front of me. Is that you? Wait, it’s clearing,” he replied, letting his head back to rest against the pillows. “Tell me more, Dean. Where are we?”

“Looks like a medieval castle. They have guards with swords, and tapestries and stuff. I had swords! Well, I woke up and they were nearby, the guards took them. They weren’t mine though, they were Fili’s. And these guys keep calling me Fili and insisting I’m a Prince. Something about Richard sending us here? And they think I’m crazy.” _Listen to yourself..._

Aidan laughed. “You sound it. So do they think I’m Kili?” He blinked slowly, looking around the room, eyes still lacking focus.

“I don’t know, they didn’t say your name. They did imply that you were my brother though, so maybe.”

“Dean!” Aidan shouted, reaching out with one hand towards his face, then pulling back. “What happened to your face?!

“What are talking about?” Dean sat back, confused. 

“You...you can’t feel that?”

“For fuck’s sake, make sense!”

Aidan frowned, reaching out and pressed hand to Dean’s forehead, above his left eye and into his hairline.

A blinding white pain seared through his skull, and everything played through his head, like a video in extreme fast forward mode. 

_The plane landed at Dunedin International Airport. As it landed, the production assistant stood and borrowed the intercom._

_“Peter has given permission for you to arrange your own rental vehicles and drive yourself to the set. Trailers should be arriving in Middlemarch this afternoon, and call sheets will be in there; first shots are at 8 am. You have this afternoon and evening to do what you want, so try not to get into too much mischief, gentlemen.”_

_“Let’s get a car and hit a pub,” Aidan grinned. “Pub food.”_

_“Why don’t we meet in Dunedin’s Octagon for lunch?” John spoke up. “Those who haven’t seen it can enjoy the city. Then we can head over to Baldwin Street, the steepest street in the world, and take turns pushing each other down to see who rolls the furthest.”_

_“Bets on Stephen, especially if he’s just eaten.”_

_“Adam’s more aerodynamic.”_

_“Mark will roll uphill, just you wait.”_

_Everyone goaded each other before disembarking, gathering luggage and heading to the car rental kiosks. I volunteered to drive (they always expected the native Kiwis to drive, claiming it was our country and our roads and our crazy give way rules) and Aidan said he’d ride shotgun, not surprisingly. By that time everyone else had found a car or a ride, and we were by ourselves._

_“Everyone knows the way to the Octagon?” Peter asked. “Just follow the signs for central Dunedin. It’s not that hard.”_

_We all nodded and headed out in our vehicles. Dunedin International Airport feels very rural, outside the main city and even its satellite city; Mosgiel. I threw my luggage into the backseat, Aidan did the same. I climbed into the driver’s seat, pulling it forward to a comfortable position and adjusted the mirror. Aidan looked at me and grinned._

_“Shut it, Turner.”_

_“Didn’t say anything.”_

_“You were thinking it.”_

_I pulled out of the lot, following the the main road and the general flow of traffic. The sky was grey and overcast but I preferred that to the sun in my eyes; I didn’t have my sunglasses. We quietly drove along, and I was distracted by random thoughts about my family, and my brother’s birthday, and the next thing I know he’s asking if we should be in the city yet._

_Probably. Oops. We missed the turn, and were well on our way way to Middlemarch. “We’ll just stop at a dairy and grab some pies,” Aidan said. “We can get to the set a little early and have a snooze.” Aidan smiled with his usual cheeky grin, drumming his fingers against the rental car’s dashboard, next to the little sticker reminding drivers to ‘Please Keep Left’. Not much of a problem for Dean, but good for foreigners who may not be used to that side of the road. Aidan hummed and began to look through the glove compartment. I agreed, and kept my eyes on the road. It was going to rain soon._

“Dean!” Dean! Who was that? Aidan? He’s awake! 

“Aidan!” Dean opened his eyes, he was laying on the wooden floor, a chair tipped over beside him. What had happened? He jumped up, and the world spun three times. Just three. Clockwise, of course. He might have spun with it but a hand was clamped down on his arm, keeping him upright.

“I’m right here,” he replied. “Right here, Deano. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched it. Are you feeling okay now?”

“Touched what?”

“The bump. Deano, there’s a massive lump on your forehead, can you not feel that?”

“No,” he replied, reaching up to touch it. _Don’t touch it, please. Not again, not so soon. I’m still trying to make sense of the images._

“Okay,” Dean replied, and Aidan helped him to sit on the bed. “Are you okay, Aidan?”

He laughed. “I’ve been better. But...I’m well enough now, I think. My vision has cleared.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Are you feeling okay too?” 

“Yeah, couple burns, but I think they’ll be okay,” Dean replied, completely forgetting the bump already. _Don’t forget it._ He looked around the small room. “Aidan, we need to leave,” he said simply.

“Okay, but didn’t you say there was a high lord-”

“Yes. And guards with swords and things. But look what I have!” He reached down into his boot, sliding out the knife with the bone handle and red gem. 

“A butter knife.”

“It’s rather sharp actually.”

“Deano, we’re actors. Not soldiers, not even stunties. How are we going to escape with a single butter knife? I’d rather not die and all.”

“It’s not a butter knife None of this is real, so can’t hurt to try right?”

Aidan hissed at him and pointed to his swollen eye, “Then why does this hurt so damn much?!”

 _He’s right. Somehow._ “I don’t know,” Dean frowned. “What if I had two knives?”

Aidan frowned, and Dean reached down into his other boot, feeling for another handle in the flap of fur. “Do you?” Aidan asked.

Dean frowned. “Nope. Seems I don’t.”

“Great. One knife. What’s the plan?”

“The one that’s been used in countless movies, because these guys have never seen a movie, so they’ll fall for it,” Dean surmised. _You’re an idiot._ Dean shook his head and was rewarded with a single clockwise spin.

“Deano, look at you. You’ve got a knot the size of Jersey on your forehead, and my eye is swollen shut, which is really messing with my depth perception. Look at me. I really don’t like this plan. We’re both injured, neither of us can actually fight. Oh, we can make it look good, but there’s not four guys standing near with a bag to break our fall.”

“It’s not real.” _Are you so sure?_ “I’m sorry Aidan, but I really don’t want to be taken back into that interrogation room. I think I got off lightly, actually, so I’m not looking forward to going back in. I'd rather attempt to get out.”

“Fine. What do you want to do?” Aidan crossed his arms, lowering his chin and glowering through a few loose strands of which tumbled front. Peter and the ADs kept telling him to do that. Made him irresistible to the ladies, Peter had said, and he needed to ham it up for the camera. Might work the same on Aidan. Dean lowered his chin, looking up through his eyelashes at Aidan, and opened his mouth to speak-

“What the fuck are you doing?” Aidan looked at him strangely.

“What?”

“That pose?”

Dean stood straight, lifting his chin. “Nothing. You lay in the bed. I’ll call the guard in and tell him you’re not breathing. He’ll go to check your pulse, and I’ll stab him in the neck with the butter kn- dagger.”

“It’s a dagger now?”

“It always was.”

“Deano, I swear-”

“Get in the bed.”

Aidan climbed into the bed, pulling the sheet up and closing his eyes. Dean took a deep breath, holding the knife against his side, his hand flat. “Hey! Help! He’s not breathing!” he shouted towards the door. The door rattled, and flew open.

“What’s this racket?” the guard stepped in, sword drawn.

“He’s not breathing! Come check for yourself! He might be dead!”

The guard glared uncertainly at Dean, but followed his advice and stepped around the bed to reach for Aidan-

_I was in the car with Aidan. We were driving to Middlemarch and it was raining. There was some loose aggregate on the road where it had recently been resealed. I braked around the corner, but hit water and stone. The car skidded, and -_ Oh god, not now. I don’t have time for this now. 

“Dean! DEAN!” Aidan’s shout brought him back, and the guard had turned from Aidan, who cowered in the bed but appeared free from further harm. The guard’s sword was now aimed out at Dean. 

“Not dead,” the guard growled. “What are you up to?”

“Mistake?”

The guard took a few quick steps toward Dean, who ducked to the side and pulled the knife up and swung it hard, plunging it into the guard’s neck. _Wow. Did you just do that?_ The man’s eyes went wide, and he gurgled. Dean ripped the knife out, and blood flowed fast along his neck; within moments he collapsed. 

“You did it!” Aidan said, utterly surprised. “How did you-”

 _Wasn’t me._ Luck? “I have no idea,” Dean said, shocked. 

“Get the sword, we’d better run!” Aidan leapt out of the bed, crashing into the chair as he did so, stumbling into Dean. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, blinking at Dean. Dean handed him the knife, holding it carefully at its balance point. “Why do I get the butter knife?”

“Dagger. Butter dagger,” Dean said. “Because I’ll have the sword,” he explained, pulling the weapon free of the man’s grasp. It was heavy. _“And swing left, Dean,” the man in the helmet instructed, parrying Dean’s swing. “Now thrust,” he instructed, and the sword was flung forward. “Good, again, faster. Keep eyes up, remember, this is the spider sequence, and they’ll be-”_

“Dean!” 

He blinked. Why did that keep happening? Why at the most inopportune times? Right, get the sword, lead Aidan to the door, past the other guard- _Shit. Dean, look!_ The second guard. Why had he forgotten about the second guard when he was led to the room? And the second guard just happened to be the biggest, burliest one they must have on the payroll. So cliché. And Aidan was held to his side, the man’s arm around his neck and the tip of his sword pressed under Aidan’s chin. The butter dagger protruded from the guard’s side but he seemed to take no notice of it.

Shit. _Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little background to the guys gathering in Dunedin's Octagon for lunch. I attended Hobbit Panel at the Auckland Armageddon Expo which had Stephen, Jed, Peter and John (all lovely fellows). And while chatting one of them mentioned that they flew to Dunedin, and the actors were allowed to rent cars before proceeding somewhere in Middlemarch for filming. They all agreed to drive into Dunedin, to the Octagon (center of the city) to have lunch. They commented that Aidan and Dean had gotten a car to themselves, which, as they jokingly said, was a bad idea. (If you've seen the behind the scenes footage, they're all constantly taking the piss out of each other). They mentioned that everybody arrived except Aidan and Dean, who had somehow missed the turn and headed straight to Middlemarch (the road system down there is pathetically simple too). One of them commented that Aidan and Dean were, to the effect of 'gorgeous, but not very bright sometimes' and many laughs were had. I thought I'd be fun to work that in.


	4. Rising Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan and Dean escape the castle; the rest of the cast wonders where they are.

“Weren’t Dean and Aidan coming as well?” Stephen asked, settling onto a bar stool with a cold beer.

“They said they would,” Adam chimed in. “Should I give them a ring?” he asked, his phone already out and thumbing through the options. 

“Is Aidan navigating? They’re probably just lost,” Jimmy chirped. “I don’t think he can tell his left from his right.” 

Adam set his phone down. “Both phones go right to voicemail,” he sighed. “They must not have come to town, must be out of range outside the city.”

“Might as well order some food,” John said. “Can’t wait forever for those two.”

* * *

He blinked. Why did that keep happening? Why at the most inopportune times? Right, get the sword, lead Aidan to the door, past the other guard- _Shit. Dean, look!_ The second guard. Why had he forgotten about the second guard when he was led to the room? And the second guard just happened to be the biggest, burliest one they must have on the payroll. So cliche. And Aidan was held to his side, the man’s arm around his neck and the tip of his sword pressed to Aidan’s throat. The butter dagger protruded from the guard’s side but he seemed to take no notice of it.

Shit. _Shit._

Dean shook his head, a faint pulsing near his ear. The world spun clockwise again. Not now! _Sorry._

Dean focused his eyes on the large man in front of him. That sword looked very sharp. By the way Aidan was struggling to keep his chin up and away from it, he’d probably agree. “Turn around,” the guard rumbled at Dean. He didn’t see much other choice; Aidan didn’t look very comfortable at the moment and he really didn’t want to upset him further. He was the only one who seemed real, and he wanted to keep him alive. _Are you sure he’s real?_

Dean turned towards the far wall, watching as the fire flickered off the stone walls. _The fire._ The fire? _The fire!_ There was nothing to grab near the fireplace; no pokers, no logs, and the fire had mostly diminished into glowing embers. It wasn’t going to work. _Sorry._

“Uhh,” a groan sounded from behind Dean, followed by a body hitting the floor, then a second. Dean spun on his heel; Aidan was on the floor, the guard atop him. The back of one of Fili’s swords protruded from the man’s back, and behind him stood one of the old healers; the one with the strands of black through her white hair. “You two have caused quite a commotion,” she admonished. Behind her stood the older woman. “You are fortunate that my husband and son and most of the guards have drunken themselves into a stupor, celebrating your capture.”

“Husband?” Dean asked, kneeling and pushing the guard’s body to the side, grabbing the butter dagger and taking a moment to tuck it back into his boot. Aidan looked up, eyes wide in shock.

“The High Lord of this fort,” she continued, sighing and reaching out and stroking his cheek. “Poor darling Prince. You really did take a strong blow to the head.” Oh, how glorious her fingers were. So warm and inviting, and he just wanted to go to sleep with Mum reading a bedtime story and -

Aidan stood, visibly shaking. “That was a dumb idea, Dean,” he said, trying to control his trembles. “Never again. No more plans from you. Those weapons are sharp.”

“My lords, you must both leave now,” the woman, the High Lord’s wife, implored them. It sounded nice when she put it that way. Lords? Oh, that’s right. She thought they were Princes. Of something, somewhere. She was pressing something into Dean’s hand. He glanced down, and it was Fili’s scabbard and sword. Then she was handing him the other blade, covered in the guard’s blood. He took it gingerly.

“Thank you,” he replied. Mum always taught him good manners, and he was sure it would apply even when an old women was giving you a bloody sword. Especially when an old woman was giving you a bloody sword.

“And for you,” she turned to the hall, taking a leather belt fixed with a quiver, arrows, sword and bow. She turned and pressed it into Aidan’s hands, and he stared at it, astonished. “You both must go, and quickly,” she explained. “Return to your Uncle’s task, find it and save us all,” she said. 

Dean and Aidan were busy trying to strap their weapons onto their backs, struggling. “Where’s the bloody wardrobe assistants,” Aidan muttered. “We never had to do this ourselves.” 

The High Lord’s wife reached over, helping Aidan with the straps and tightening it around his leather vest. She leaned up, wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him down, planting a long, wet kiss against his lips. He stumbled in shock and threw his hands up into the air, unsure where to put them. Dean gaped. “Thank you for everything, Prince Kili,” she smiled at him, and ran a hand down his cheek. “Everything. Now go.” She stepped back, and they saw the older crone standing in the hall, keeping watch. “Down this hall, down the stairs, and the first door out on the left. Look right and the postern door to the keep will be visible. There is a single guard outside that door,” she explained. “Take him out and freedom is yours.”

 _Freedom!_ Freedom, from who and heading where? Dean glanced over to Aidan, who will still staring in shock at the woman. He grabbed his hand, pulling him down the corridor. “Dude, what the hell did you do? She’s old enough to be our mother!”

“I don’t know! I don’t remember doing anything...I was unconscious, wasn’t I...oh, god,” he muttered, pale. “What did I do? What did she do!” 

“Just run,” Dean muttered, holding out the bloody sword in front as he ran down the stairs. It was surprisingly quiet, and he felt like a buffalo bounding across the stage of a ballet performance. Somebody was bound to notice. He pushed down the stairs, looking for the - _Hey Dean, check this out!_

_The car skidded, and Aidan shouted. Dean turned the wheel, and the car slid sideways towards a concrete barrier, trees lining the valley beyond it, and then hit the kerb, and turned, flying over the concrete rail, only managing to chip it. The white rental car spun through air, thrashing the occupants and slammed into a tree. The window broke beside Aidan’s head, the shards raining over him and cutting his face and left arm. The vehicle slid down, coming to rest upright, partly in a stream. The water soaked in -_

Dean stumbled to his knees, bringing up a hand his his head, just beside the knot on his head that he’d forgotten about. Was that real? Couldn’t be. More like a movie. This is far more real. Or was this the dream? Dean shook his head, trying to stand but only succeeded in falling back down.

“Deano,” Aidan said, coming up behind him and looping his hands under his arms, pulling him up. “You gonna make it?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, his eyes heavy. The door opened, cold air blowing in. Finally, out of the building. Just the wall to get past. His stomach rumbled. When had he last eaten? He was meant to go to the Octagon for lunch. Wait, where? _I’m not feeling well, Dean._ Aidan wanted pub food. He was usually bored with pub food. Hundreds of pubs and he was fairly sure they all had the same recipe. Right now he’d kill for pub food though. _Dean, I can’t...something’s not right. Something’s wet. Around our feet. Our feet shouldn’t be wet, Dean._

There was a loud clanging noise and he looked up; Aidan stood with Dean’s bloody sword, swinging it at a guard who parried easily. Aidan swung again, and Dean, feeling quite removed from the situation watched with interest. It was the choreography for the spider fight. Aidan really practiced that one, and it looked good. Except the other guy was blocking every blow. Dean hefted his sword, and looked up. When did he end up on the ground?

Aidan cried out, and Dean’s vision darted up to see him holding this forearm, blood dripping through. That was enough to solidify Dean’s reality. He rose quickly, lunging and swinging with his own war cry. War cry? Where did that come from? The bloodied sword - Fili’s sword - slid across the guard’s arm, slicing open his armor. _Not hard enough._ Dean thrust quickly, the man jumping back, but he returned quickly, slicing at Dean who held up his own sword and parrying the block. He reached back, flipping the small piece of leather holding his other sword in place and unsheathed it, dual wielding his weapons. The guard’s eyes went wide, and he thrust again. Dean parried with his left blade, and thrust with the right into the man’s side, under the arm. The guard fell, rolling down the small embankment that the wall sat on. He lay at the bottom, face down, unmoving. 

“Dean?” Aidan leaned against the wall, clutching at his arm, sword in the grass. “How did you do that?”

 _Yes Dean...how did you do that?_ “It just..happened,” he answered with a shrug. _Oh, Dean. You remember what I said about the water, yeah?_ Dean slid his swords back into the sheathe, managing to get them both in without any assistance, surprisingly. How many times had he been in the studio, trying to to sheathe them himself only to have them clatter to the concrete floor? It was damn near impossible. Well, used to be. He allowed himself a smug smile.

“Dean?” Aidan stood from the wall, collecting his sword from the ground in his right hand, left arm still bent against his chest. “We should go,” he said. “Before they come looking for us.”

“Your arm,” Dean said. His tunic was in tatters anyway. In fact, that was going to be an issue. It was cold outside. At least Aidan still had a full complement of clothes. He grabbed a piece of the tunic, tearing a strip. A huge strip. Crap. Why did they always make that look so easy in the movies. It’s stuck now. End won’t tear off. Suave, O’Gorman. _I’d laugh, but Dean, the water -_

Dean wrapped the strand around Aidan’s arm; it didn’t look too deep. Was wrapping it even helping? Course it would. That’s what you did in movies. Tie something around the wound. Aidan grimaced and Dean glanced up. Brown eyes, black eye, red slashes across his face, crimson blood.

“Let’s move,” Aidan said. “We can fix it when we’re far enough away,” he said. They ran down the hill, trying not to stumble. It was incredibly dark; a small torch was lit by the back door of the keep, otherwise there was no starlight, no other lights. 

“Wait,” Dean said, running back up the hill. He reached up, pulling the torch from its iron sconce and plodding back down the hill. 

“Dean, that’ll be a bloody beacon straight to us in the middle of the night!”

“It’s so dark though,” he protested. “We can put it out if we need to.”

Aidan gave a reluctant nod, and stepped forward. The ground squelched beneath his boots, and they both sunk into the marshy lands. Marsh. _Water, Dean. Listen, I’m really concerned here, because it’s rising. It’s up to our shins now. I’m still trying to figure this out though, so I’ll get back to you soon, okay? Just don’t...dismiss this. I think it’s important._

Aidan ran along, moving much faster than Dean. He was always faster. Dean could run faster if tried, but honestly, who wanted to run? It was boring, it was - Horses. More horses. It was incredibly useful if somebody was chasing you. He loved running.

_Dean, it’s rising really, really fast now. I can feel it around our knees._  


* * *

Jed gripped the steering wheel, the windscreen wipers sliding back and forth as fast as they could. He was tempted to pull over; he was used to terrible weather being from Wellington, it wasn’t unusual for rain to batter the coast like this. But as much as he hated to admit it, even he was struggling to drive. He finally gave in, pulling over at a farm gate, putting the car into park.

“Sorry,” he turned to Richard. “I’ll just let the storm let up a little. Feels a little dangerous.”

Richard nodded. “Good idea.” His phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was a text from Adam. 

Adam: We’re at Middlemarch but Aidan and Dean aren’t here, phones straight to voicemail. Can you keep your eyes open for their car while you’re driving?  
Richard: Will do.

“When the weather clears, we need to look for Dean and Aidan,” Richard said. “They’re not in Middlemarch.”

“Maybe they drove past it?”

“Maybe. We’ll see if there’s anything when we continue.”

* * *

The white car sat partially submerged in the rising stream, the bonnet angled downward. The hood was partially crushed, the passenger windows broken, and the engine had finally choked with water and shut off. Both air bags had blown and now sat partially deflated. The white car was hidden by the trees and underbrush lining the stream; the tree had several large broken limbs, the most prominent evidence of an accident, if somebody looked straight at it. The concrete bridge barrier was only chipped. There was a tire mark across both lanes, but nothing too dark. Loose gravel from the construction work still littered the northbound lane.

In the two car, the two men sat unconscious. The passenger suffered cut glass along his face and left arm, a deeper cut in the same arm, and a black eye from a tree limb smashing through into his face. Like the driver, the seat belt held him upright, but his head fell left against the door frame. The driver appeared less injured, with less obvious bleeding. But the knot on his forehead was large, and he rested against the deflated air bag and steering wheel. His chest was bruised from the impact; two ribs cracked.

Around the region, the rain came down hard. It gathered on the hills, running off into the valleys; it pooled in the valleys, running off into the stream. The small tributaries, hardly more than a gentle caress over a bare foot on a usual day, grew until they would cover a boot. But those knee-high tributaries gathered together into the Deep Stream, which ran in a deep gorge through the Otago plains. And the water flowed quickly into the Deep Stream which rose steadily around the white car, lapping at the occupant’s thighs. They didn’t wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More elements from the Hobbit to invade Dean's world soon. :)
> 
> Look up Dunedin, New Zealand on Google Maps. Follow State Highway 87 west from Dunedin until it turns north. Follow it north until crosses a gully and stream called the Deep Stream. That's where our boys are sitting in this story.


	5. Turbulent Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Aidan take a tumble; others find the car and attempt their own rescue.

“Ditch the torch!” Aidan shouted, and Dean dropped it into the water. And immediately regretted it. It was incredibly dark with no moon or stars. Dean stumbled along, pace slowing. He heard Aidan kicking roots behind him and cursing a poor tree’s mother. Trees don’t have mothers. They have acorns. Dean would have laughed if he wasn’t out of breath from the running. _Dean, time to think about something else. Like water…_

It was raining, and coming down quite heavy; he could feel the remnants of his cloth tunic beginning to weigh down with the moisture. The marshy land continued beneath their feet, and there was a sound of running water, growing louder and louder. If they could reach the river, maybe they could cross and get away from their pursuers. Dean led on, setting the pace, although he imagined Aidan wasn’t having much difficulty keeping up with him. _Dean, not that water. You don’t even know if that is real. I’m pretty sure the water here is...can’t you feel it? It’s around our waist now. I can’t feel our toes anymore._

The forest and underbrush grew thicker, and the sound of the horses eventually quieted and disappeared altogether. “Dean, stop,” Aidan said, out of breath. “I think we lost them,” he whispered, sagging against a tree. Dean nodded and sat down in the damp undergrowth. _Dean! Dean, the water, Dean!_ Dean leaned over, his eyes screwing shut.

“What’s wrong? You don’t look well.”

“Just...my head. Something feels wrong.”

_Good, good Dean! Have a chocolate fish. If I had any. You need to move, Dean. You need to get out of the water now. It’s really high, nearly under your arms. Do you feel it? It’s cold and wet._

Dean shivered; it was a cold night and half of his chest was exposed to the cold air. While running had kept him warm, they’d stopped for some time now and he was feeling the air cooling his sweat-slicked skin, and beginning to shiver. He was cold and wet. “We have to move,” he said.

“What? Can’t we rest a little longer?”

“No. We have to move, Aidan. We do, trust me. Please.”

“Dean, you look a little pale, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I’m just cold. And it’s the moonlight.”

“There is no moonlight.”

“I’m cold. Let’s walk, it’ll warm me up.”

_Dean, this wasn’t what I meant about cold and wet. This can’t be real. You have to understand, you have to see! Can I show you again? I’m going to show you again._

_The car skidded, and Aidan shouted. Dean turned the wheel, and the car slid sideways towards a concrete barrier, trees lining the valley beyond it, and then hit the kerb, and turned, flying over the concrete rail, only managing to chip it. The white rental car spun through air, thrashing the occupants and slammed into a tree. The window broke beside Aidan’s head, the shards raining over him and cutting his face and left arm. The vehicle slid down, coming to rest upright, partly in a stream. The water soaked in around them, rising rapidly._

“Dean, get up!” Dean hurt all over. He was cold, wet, and sore. And on his back, staring at Aidan’s face hovering over. Aidan was spinning. Clockwise. Reset. Clockwise. 

Dean closed his eyes; the world couldn’t spin when he couldn’t see. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know! You’re not well, we can’t keep going like this.”

“We have to,” Dean said, opening his eyes again struggling to his feet, grateful for Aidan’s good arm; he still cradled the cut one against his chest. “We have to keep going.”

There was a sudden crashing noise in the forest, and dogs began barking. “Oh god,” Aidan whimpered. “They’ve found us. Dean, we can just give up. They tried to heal us last time, who’s to say they won’t do it again? They wanted us alive, didn’t they? We might die out here!”

“We can’t go back. Go,” Dean gave Aidan a shove, and ran alongside him. Surprisingly, they paced themselves fairly well and kept the dogs at a distance. The rain eased up, which turned out to be quite unfortunate for them; the rainfall had helped mask their movements. They ran side by side through the forest, their limbs sore and tired; wet from the driving rain, and confused and frightened. 

Aidan went first; he met the soft earth with the heel of his foot, and it gave way below him, his leg following down. His knee buckled behind him, and he slid down the hill with a shout. Dean was less than a second behind when he stepped into nothingness; he fell forward, hitting the bank with his head. Both tumbled down the steep incline into the raging river below, the dark pulsating waves swallowing the pair.

_Dean...I’m sorry. It’s nearly to our neck. This isn’t going to end well for us, mate. I’m sorry. I tried to do what I could...I’m not sure what we could have done. I’m really sorry._

* * *

John, Peter and Graham drove along; they were the third car to leave Dunedin after Mark’s car which carried Adam and Ken, and William’s car with Stephen and Jimmy. Jed was going to show Richard the old Dunedin railway station quickly, and then they’d be on their way too. They had stopped on the roadside to allow the rain to pass, but nobody passed them and they guessed the others had done the same. Adam had called earlier, asking them to watch for any signs of Aidan and Dean, who seemed to have misplaced themselves. 

“Probably took a wrong turn,” John muttered from the backseat. “Didn’t Dean go looking for Sound Stage K and on the first day he was there and end up in the nearest pub with a pint?”

“That was you, John.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’ll look right,” Graham said, fixed on his window more than the conversation. “John looks left. And Peter keeps his eyes on the road for tyre tracks or anything of the sort. Got to look after the little ones, don’t we?” 

“Always making trouble,” Peter laughed. “Can’t even handle a little drive.” After a pause, his tone turned a little more serious. “Although it has been raining.”

“Yeah,” Graham said. “I’m a little worried for them,” he looked over as they crossed a bridge, some trees blowing in the wind. One tree had several broken branches, as if a strong wind had caught it. The car skidded a little in some loose stones, Peter mumbling and slowing.

“Go back,” Graham spoke up. “Peter, turn the car and go back towards the bridge. I think I saw something.”

“Sure, let me just find a safe turning spot,” he said, continuing on until the grass flattened and there was a small shoulder on the right. He turned them back south, continuing past the bridge to pull of in another flat patch just past it. Graham jumped out of the car, running across the road and down to the bridge edge. It was then he noticed the short skid mark across the asphalt, and the chipped concrete fencing. He peered into the trees, and in the water was the hood of a white car; the car jostled back and forth by the flowing stream, trees holding it in place; a little more debris from upriver could dislodge the vehicle and carry it downstream. 

Graham turned, shouting. “Call for help! Their car is submerged in the stream! Come help me!” Graham ran back down the road, vaulting the fence and trying to find a way down the rocky face by the stream. John pulled out his phone, searching for a signal. “I’ve got to move up the hill!” he shouted to Peter, who was running to help Graham. John crawled over the fence, heading up the hill in hopes of getting a cell phone signal.

Graham stumbled down the embankment, tearing his jacket on trees and finally stumbling into the water’s edge. Holding onto tree limbs in the swiftly moving water, he carefully entered the swollen stream; the water was quickly gaining speed, but he was able to hang on to the car’s roof rack and pull himself around it. The water was swirling around Dean’s neck, his body thrown forward against the wheel; Aidan was leaned to the back and side, and the water only hit his collarbone. He reached into the open passenger window, where the water was flooding in, feeling for a pulse on Aidan; it was slow but steady. Graham swam around to the other side, tugging on the door; it wouldn’t open. “Shit,” he growled, pulling and tugging hard on the door to get to his friend; it wouldn’t budge. Graham kicked around, feeling something large and hard by the base of the door. He ran around the other side, hoping to free Aidan quickly so he could pull Dean through the passenger side. The car swayed in the water, threatening to break loose and carry its occupants away.

John sighed with relief, running back down the hill; at the top he’d made contact and an ambulance and rescue crew were on the way. He’d only made it back down to their own car when a second car pulled off the road alongside, and the window came down.

“John,” Jed peered up, “Find anything?”

“They’re in the water!” John yelled, pointing towards the bridge. “Graham and Peter are down there.” Within moments, Jed and Richard were out and racing across the bridge, crossing the wall and climbing down. Peter leaned against a tree, holding onto the Graham’s belt as he fought with the door on Aidan’s side of the car; the water was pushing hard against it now and he was struggling to open it without being washed away himself.

Richard threw himself into the water beside Graham, hanging onto the branches of the tree Peter clung to. Bracing his feet against the door, he glanced at Graham. “On three,” he said. “One, two, THREE!” The two men pulled on the door handle and window of the car, and it finally came open; the water pressed it open and held it there. The car teetered again in the current.

Graham leaned into the car, unbuckling Aidan. He wrapped his arms around the the younger man’s torso and glanced back to Peter. “Pull me out!”

Richard, one hand on the tree, reached out and grasped Graham’s jacket; Peter tugged at the belt. They brought him back to the tree, leaning on it and managed to pass the unconscious brunet to Jed, who waited in the shallowest parts of the stream. Jed collected Aidan under his arms, pulling him upward against the rocks. Aidan was obviously injured from the accident, and his skin was cold to the touch, his lips tinged with blue. Jed placed his hands on Aidan’s cheeks, trying to impart some warmth to the cold body. 

The stream’s velocity was now akin to a raging torrent. Graham could barely keep himself still in the water, even with Peter holding his belt; both were cold and beginning to tire. “I can’t reach him,” Graham said, stretching into the car. “The water is at his chin! I can’t get him!”

Richard undid his belt, quickly pulling it out and then threading it through the back two loops of his pants and buckling it together. “We’ll try a chain. Graham, hold onto my belt. I’ll see if I can get in there.”

“I hope he’s not pinned. I haven’t been able to check for a pulse yet either.”

Richard nodded as he pushed back into the cold water, his own toes numbing. He realized that Dean and Aidan would have been here for sometime now and his own discomfort was immaterial. Richard always enjoyed immersing himself in a character; he thoroughly created a story for each of his character’s relationships, and lived it on the set. In this case, Thorin was extremely fond of his two nephews; Richard had grown fond of Dean and Aidan, and the thought that anything could happen to them tugged at his heart. He swallowed his fear and jumped back into the stream once he felt Graham’s hands holding the belt. 

Branches and small rocks pressed against his back as the water carried all sorts of debris downstream; items caught at the bridge were being washed aside after months of build up and moving straight towards him. He braced his feet against the bottom of the car, leaning in to Dean; he still couldn’t reach the seat belt, and the water was dangerously close to Dean’s mouth and nose. He pulled back out of the passenger door.

“Let go of me for now,” Richard said to Graham. “I’ll be fine.”

“Unless the car goes.”

“I’ll take the chance,” Richard replied, “For Dean,” and Graham nodded. Graham held his belt until he reached the door, and once Richard pulled down into the vehicle, he let go. There was very little breathing space, and Richard took a deep breathe, going under the water to release the belt buckle. The force from the water pushed Richard into Dean; the blond man sunk against the window, head going under. Richard came up, lifting Dean’s head from the water and feeling for a pulse at his neck; there was nothing, but he attributed it to his own shaking fingers and numb limbs. He wasn’t going to give up now. He tugged, and Dean moved but something still held him trapped. 

Richard took a deep breath, pulling himself down and feeling around Dean’s body for objects. Something thick was wedged between his feet, and Richard tugged on the rough object, bringing it with him as he came up for a air; it was a tree branch. The water level was moving up, Dean’s head bobbing, his nose and mouth going under again. Richard braced himself against the center console, tugging on the blond’s arm; he finally came loose, and Richard pulled until he was outside the car, the water pressure holding him against the open door.

“I’ve got him!” he cried out. Graham leaned in, sticking his head below water momentarily until he could reach Richard’s looped belt. 

“Pull!” Graham shouted, and both he and Peter began to pull Richard back. The chain worked magnificently, all three finally pulling themselves to the narrow bank of the growing stream. Jed hovered over Aidan, continuing to check his breathing and pulse, and trying to warm him up. Richard kept his hold on Dean, dragging him back beside Aidan, pressing his fingers to his neck to find a pulse and listening for a breath.

“I can’t - I can’t feel,” he murmured. “I’m too cold.”

“Let me,” Jed pressed in beside him, laying his fingers on Dean’s neck, leaning over and gently setting his hands over Dean’s mouth. He sat back on his haunches moments later. “Erratic, but there.”

“We need to get out of here,” Peter interrupted. “Don’t know how much further the stream will rise.”

The four men looked up the rocky embankment, where John stood at the rail looking down. Shortly after, the welcome sound of a fire engine's siren was heard.

* * *

_Dean...where are you...struggling...cold..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of real-world perspective this time. :) Next chapter slips back into Dean's mind, and one of the others turns up there.


	6. New Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face finds Dean and Aidan and takes them back to meet the local Duke.

Dean sputtered up a mouthful of dark water, kneeling on a sandy bank. His head was pounding and he was fairly certain his lungs were full of molasses. They burned and he gasped, reaching around in a panic.

“Easy, lad, let it up.”

That certainly wasn’t going to help. He looked up, the grey beard and bald head looking on with concern, one hand on his back.

“Graham? What are you doing here?”

“Who? You’re not well, lad. Too much water. Keep it coming, I’ve got you.” The steady hand around his middle was strangely comforting as he hacked his lungs out into the sand and mud. His eyes darted from left to right, and he saw his scabbard and swords beside him. Fili’s swords. Odd that they had survived the trip down the river. Dean pulled his head up, coughs still wracking his entire body. “Bring me a coat!” Graham shouted, and something warm was laid over his back and shoulders; it brushed against his bare skin under the torn tunic. He relaxed, resting on his forearms with his eyes closed.

“No you don’t. Get up, we need to get to safety,” Graham said, tugging at his arm. “Too close to the river and the borders.” 

“Graham, I just need a few more minutes, please-”

“Graham? Who is Graham? Don’t you remember me?”

Dean stood back and stared for a moment. Yep, definitely Graham. “Um...Dwalin?”

Graham pulled him into a tight hug, Dean’s face mashing against the older man’s broad chest. “Ah, good to see you haven’t lost all your senses.”

_Oh, you’re back. I have some news for you. Where’s Aidan?_

“Aidan!” Dean’s eyes shot wide, and he looked around. Besides Graham, dressed in some sort of boiled leather armor, there were three or four other soldiers that Dean didn’t recognize. But no Aidan.

“Aidan?” Graham looked on in confusion.

“Uh, Kili?”

“He’s at the fire, resting. We pulled him out long before we could reach you. He’s better than you are, being treated for cuts on his arm and his face. He was still conscious and trying to swim,” Graham chuckled. “Caught a tree branch and had nearly hauled himself out on his own. Lucky my men were there to help him the rest of the way.”

Dean sighed with relief. “Where are we?” 

“On the edge of my Lord the Duke’s lands,” Graham said proudly. “And of course, my Lord the Duke and sworn fealty to your uncle the King. You have nothing to fear from the army in these borders, young prince. Every man here would defend you to the death.”

“Death? I’d rather it not come to that,” Dean managed weakly, leaning over with his hands on his knees. Clockwise. Reset. Clockwise. _Dean, there’s some people here, lots of people here. They said something about an ambulance, or a helicopter. We weren’t driving an ambulance, were we? I thought it was a car. And I’m pretty sure we can’t fly helicopters yet. Did you want to learn to fly one? We could ask -_

Dean groaned and lowered himself to the ground again, vomiting up more water. He hated being sick. His brother would laugh and poke him but his mother would bring him lots of soup and Milo. Warm soup and a Milo sounded wonderful, and he smiled at the thought. Then promptly vomited again. 

“Come,” Graham tugged on his arm. “We’ll ride back to his castle.”

“Not sure I can ride a horse right now,” Dean confessed. He was never fond of riding horses. Only a few minutes and he was sore in all the right places for all the wrong reasons. He tugged at his pants. “Can we walk? Might be sick again.”

“You’ll ride with me, I don’t fancy seeing any more bumps on that head of yours,” Graham said. “Let the water come up as you need to. We’ll start at a slow pace.”

“Right. Thanks Gra-Dwalin.”

The warrior patted his shoulder. “We should be going. There will be other kingdoms, orcs and all sorts after you and your brother.”

That sounds bad. _Ooh, that could be fun. But why are they after us?_ Dean winced. “Why are they after us?”

Graham - Dwalin - chuckled. “We’ll get a bit of food in that belly and some warm clothes, you’ll come to eventually.” Graham stood, slipping an arm under Dean’s to pull him up. Graham, being a fair bit taller, pulled him high and Dean felt as though he might rip his arm out of its socket.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Dean muttered, and the tall Scot let him go, reaching down to collect Fili’s weapons. Dean was actually far from good and he knew it. He was exhausted, every muscle sore, his lungs burning with every breath, and his head pulsating with each step. He could really use a nap. And perhaps a bit of an explanation on what the hell was happening to him. One of the men with Graham brought up a horse, and Dean stared blankly at it. 

“Do you need help?”

“Yes.”

“Leg up,” Graham said, and suddenly hands were on his hips, lifting him into the air. He fumbled with the saddle, finally grasping the poor horse’s mane and holding on. Then he felt Graham pressed up behind him. One hand wrapped around his waist to hold him up and he relaxed. “Ready?” Dean nodded, and they were off. Impossibly fast on a horse, and he closed his eyes, leaning back. 

_Hey Dean, do you have a moment? Sorry to scare you earlier. Well, no. I’m not. It was bad. But I think it’s better now. But the guys turned up and dragged us out of the water! What awesome friends we have, Dean. Really. I hope you send them bacon or something once we’re functioning all proper-like again. Speaking of which, we’re still slightly broken I think. I’m still a bit cold, but somebody trying to warm us, and there’s this guy with a beard hovering over, which is really quite nice actually. Shit, I think he tried to kiss us. Never mind, just making sure we’re breathing. We are breathing, aren’t we? Oh, hey, there’s this board thing Dean. They’re putting us on it. And a blanket. Feeling tired, Dean, been a long day. Except it’s just past lunch. Shouldn’t have stayed up so late. Oh, just going to relax for a few minutes..._

* * *

Dean woke as the horse came into a slow trot at the bottom of a steep hill, topped by a small yet tall stone castle. Pikes jutting from the ground like sharp teeth surrounded the base of the hill, save a narrow path up to the front gate. The sun hung low in a cloudless sky and cool winds rustled the trees below. Dean blinked a few times, shifting against Graham’s arm.

“Ah, there you are,” he rumbled. “We’re here now. Let’s get you into some warm clothes and have some dinner.”

“Aidan? Kili?”

“Ahead of us.”

Dean nodded drowsily. He wanted nothing more than to lean back against the strong chest again and close his eyes. Instead, Dwalin slid off the horse and helped him down, keeping a tight grip on his arm. He walked him through a wide set of doors into a stony corridor, pushing him along gently until they reached a bedroom. It looked surprisingly similar to the one Dean and Aidan had escaped from in the night, and he instinctively shrugged back in fear. Dwalin’s form kept him from backpedalling, and he peered into the room again.

Dean saw Fili and Kili’s weapons on the bed, and moved towards them, leaving Dwalin behind in the corridor. Around the corner from the door, half naked stood Aidan fumbling with a shirt that was wrapped around his head. 

“Aid!”

Aidan promptly spun and smacked into the wall with a startled cry. “Dean? You’re okay?” He fumbled with the shirt, his head finally emerging from the top.

“I’m alive,” he replied simply. _Yes we are! Well that was a good rest. We were moving for quite awhile there, Dean. Now we’re in a big building. Lots of people moving around, lots of noise. They’re hovering over us a lot. Not sure what they’re doing, but ouch! Shit Dean, that one just stuck a sharp needle into the back of our hand! Oh fuck! Dean! Oh god that hurts why would she do that…_

Dean shook his head, blinking, until Aidan’s hands came to rest on his shoulders. “Deano,” he said, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Mmhmm. Nothing some food won’t fix, right? We haven’t eaten since...well, I can’t remember. Have we ever eaten?”

Aidan laughed, shucking off his breeches in favor of a dark, clean pair on the bed. “They have some clothes for you too. Don’t ask me how they knew our size, considering how unforgiving these things are, but it seems to fit.”

Dean nodded and peeled off the ruined tunic he’d been wearing since the High Lord had decided to burn him. He glanced down, the bandages long gone and pink scars remaining. They didn’t hurt anymore. There was a nice new tan tunic and it was far softer than the last. He turned away from Aidan, slipping out of his filthy old breeches and pulling up the new black ones. They were tight. Every muscle and not muscle would be showing through these things.

Dean winced as he did up the ties on the front of the pants. “Shit, you weren’t kidding. These things...where did you put your junk?”

Aidan cringed. “Really? It’s not detachable. Where it’s always been.”

“I thought were getting away from the guy trying to torture us, but these pants-”

“Are you lads ready?” The Scot’s voice rang out from the hall, a hint of impatience. 

“Coming!” Aidan called out. “Did you see? Graham’s here!” 

“Yeah, but he thinks we’re Fili and Kili too. And he only answers to Dwalin.” 

“Could be worse. Could only answer to Legolas or something. Let’s be glad some things are the way they should be.” Aidan spun towards the door, adjusting his new tunic.

_Are you so sure things are the way they should be, Dean?_

Dean blinked, bringing his hand up towards his forehead. _Shit, Dean, don’t touch it!_ He dropped his hand back down, following Aidan out into the hallway. They were led through castle to the ground level where there was a massive hall. Dean glanced around; it too looked eerily similar to the one in the High Lord’s castle. _They must all look the same, right? How many medieval architects were there? They were just happy to get something that didn’t crumble in and crush the construction crew, yeah?_

“Stop it,” Dean whispered angrily. 

“What?” Aidan turned back, and Graham looked on in consternation.

“Nothing. Fine. All good.”

“This way, lads. You sit on the dais, beside the Duke. That’s right, these two seats here.” Dean sat beside a massive chair, and he looked at it anxiously. The Duke must be a giant. He hoped the Duke was on their side; but surely if Dwalin looked to him, it was safe. The room was bustling with men and women in colorful garb, and they chatted until a tingling bell clattered from a balcony. _Like the siren before, Dean. Do you remember the siren?_

The room calmed into a silence, servants positioning alongside the wall. “Stand for the Duke,” the voice called out, and benches and chairs clattered against the floorboards as everybody in the hall stood. Dean and Aidan exchanged a glance and joined the room.

They heard a soft footfall permeate the silence, and turned to look. The Duke was small, thin, and nearly swallowed by his ornate robes and huge crown. He carried a scepter of gold and gems, and kept his head perfectly straight as he walked down the side of the dais toward his chair. 

Dean looked over to Aidan and saw his eyes as wide as his own. They turned back to the Duke. “ADAM!” They shoved their chairs aside, sprinting for their friend, or at least moving as two nearly-drowned-in-the-same-day men could. Guards, dressed in shades of purple, suddenly descended on them, blocking their path with polearms.

Graham was there too, placing a hand on each of their shoulders to hold them back. He motioned the guards away. “My Lord, the Duke Ori,” he said. “My Lord, the Princes of Erebor, Fili and Kili.” 

Adam looked at both of them, then bowed at the waist. His oversized crown fell off, clattering across the dais. A guard hastily returned it. “My Princes. I am pleased that you grace my lands with your presence.”

“My Lord, our apologies. The Princes have suffered torture at the hands of those to the south, and were nearly drowned only today. They have been ill and still suffer some...delusions,” Dwalin explained.

Aidan and Dean glanced at each other, Aidan jumping into the conversation next. “Yeah, sorry about that. We’re looking forward to eating. Might help,” he smiled cheekily. Adam smiled politely at Aidan.

“Yes,” Dean added. “Our apologies. It’s been a...difficult journey...Lord Ori?” he glanced to his friend for a reaction. Adam’s cheeks flushed bright red as he stared back at Dean. Oh. Dean hadn’t expected that reaction. He heard Aidan snicker. _Oh, Dean._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blogging at furynz.tumblr.com.


	7. Bad Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori tells Dean a little more about the quest; the cast visits the hospital for news.

“Prince Fili,” Adam replied, bowing down and kissing Dean’s knuckles. No, not Adam. This looked like Adam, but was nothing like Adam. This was Ori. _You might be onto something there, Dean. Not everything is right here._

Ori, not Adam, was kissing his knuckles. Dean withdrew his hand quickly, wiping it on his pants. “Lord Ori?” he asked again. 

“Duke, but you may call me anything you wish. Ori would be fine. Those breeches look stunning on you. I’m so glad we are able to assist you in your quest.” His eyes lit up as he looked over Dean, and Dean only shrunk back beside Aidan, feeling very self-conscious. He wanted new pants. Newer pants.

“A size bigger might be helpful, if you’ve anymore laying around. And about that quest-”

“Can we eat?”

Dean turned to Aidan, who stood with arms crossed, staring at the table. And then realized that the entire room was starting at the royal party on the dais, waiting for them to sit so they could all eat. He nodded, finding his seat again beside Ori (but so desperate to swap with Aidan) and waited for Ori to give his word that everyone could begin.

The food was terrible. The meat was overcooked, the gravy was watery fat, and the ale was weak and bordering on rancid. Dean’s thoughts floated to home again, and the nice restaurants down by the Viaduct. Proper meals, cooked by real chefs, with glasses of wine and elegant desserts. Not baked until every last molecule of water was removed from it. He ate what was in front of him, not sure when their next meal would arrive. _Dean, we’re in a big room. Lots of people bustling around, putting their hands on us. I think Aidan is nearby; they say his name with concern, too. Just like our name. Can you see this, Dean? Can you feel them touching us?_

A hand brushed Dean’s thigh and he jumped, banging his knees on the table’s underside. Ori smiled bashfully and glanced away. Dean’s stomach turned and he could only pick at the food, despite knowing that his body needed it. “So Ori,” he said slowly, choosing words with caution, “Why are we here, and not with our Uncle in Erebor?”

Ori laughed, and Graham laughed with him. “You really have forgotten so much, haven’t you?”

Dean smiled mirthlessly. “Yes. I’m afraid our journey has taken all knowledge of our quest out of memory.” That sounded a little epic and medieval-ish. He picked up the fork, stabbing at the grey meat on his platter. He hoped the meat would crawl off the plate, but there was no such chance. It was deader than dead. He took a bite, grinding at it until he finally had to spit it back onto the plate, shoving the vile dish away. It was inedible. No wonder people in the middle ages didn’t live past 40. Shit. If that held true, he didn’t have long left in this place. He found himself craving an apple and scoured the table with his eyes for a piece of fruit.

“We’re not far from the warlock’s cave,” Ori told him. “Have you visited the warlock yet? He can help you find the stone.”

“What stone? What warlock?” Dean picked up a small piece of bread, slathering it in the the watery gravy.

“The Arkenstone, of course! To control the dragon and save the kingdom.”

Of course. There would be some sort of epic hero journey. Or dual hero journey, if Aidan was coming along. _Don’t pay much attention Dean. I don’t think this quest is that important. I’m pretty sure something else happening around us is more important. Do you understand. Forget the Arkenstone thing. It’s probably very dull._ “I’m looking for the Arkenstone?” _Right, fine. I’ll be back once I have something important. You just play along._

Graham and Ori laughed. “You both are. Why do you think your Uncle sent you this far? The prophecy says that only the heirs to the mountain can find the stone. You two need to find it, and keep it safe. If it falls into other hands, they can control the dragon and destroy Erebor.”

“Right.” Dean was growing weary quickly and leaned back against the chair. Find a stone, defeat a dragon, save a kingdom. Maybe there would be cute princesses. _Don’t count on that. You’ve got Ori, remember?_

Dean’s nose wrinkled at the thought. “Quiet,” he growled.

“Is the music too loud?”

“Music? I didn’t hear any-” Dean’s eyes followed Ori’s finger to where a small group of musicians piped and strung on a variety of wind and string instruments. Once he focused on it, his ears felt violated. He has mistook them for voices, allowing them to blend into the background. Now he couldn’t block the noise.

“What’s this about a warlock? Aidan spoke up, tearing through another roll, shoving a large chunk into his mouth. Dean was fairly certain he’d been through an entire pitcher of the ale too. “Like, with magic and stuff?” he mumbled through a mouthful of bread.

“A visionary,” Ori explained. “Lives in the cavern near the ocean’s edge. He can help you see where the stone is. It’s buried deep within your consciousness, and he’ll help you find it.” 

_No, no Dean. It’s not buried there. Believe me, I would know. But just play along, seeing that we’ve nothing else to do, and stuff here does hurt. Which is really throwing me off. Throw. Thorin. Those words sounds similar, did you notice? Why is that Dean? Why are you such a fucked up mess right now? Let me tell you, Dean. It’s because we’re laying a white bed, in a backless gown, because they took our clothes, Dean. Our good clothes. Favorite jeans. The ones our girlfriend liked. You know the ones. And now we’re in a sheet. Something’s wrong, and I’m angry, Dean. Really angry. Because I’m trying to figure this out and you’re not helping much._

“Stop!” Dean’s shout startled everybody, Aidan dropping his fork. The room quieted and the commoners looked up to the royal table.

“Mate, you good?” Aidan’s words floated over him like a fog. Strangely comforting, and yet he just wanted to see through it. Ori looked on, Graham’s face visible over the young Duke’s head. Both of them were quite concerned. 

“Um...may I be excused?” he smiled pleasantly at Ori. “Tired, after the journey.”

“Oh! Of course! Let me escort you, my Prince,” Ori offered, standing. As he rose, the entire room responded in kind, save Aidan who was devouring a bone-dry leg of lamb. His second, judging by the bone on the table. Dean shook his head and speculated where it all went on his slender form. _High metabolism. Anyway, he’s fine, leave him for now. I want you to open our eyes Dean. These people keep poking and prodding us, and I think they’ll stop if we look at them. Can you open our eyes?_

Dean shook Aidan’s shoulder. “Stand!” he stage-whispered. 

“But I’m not done eating!”

“I am! I can’t sit here anymore, Aidan. You can take it with you. Please, I just want to rest in quiet.”

Aidan hastily shoved an array of food onto the pewter plate, standing and taking it and a mug of ale with him. Two guards walked ahead and two behind, with Graham beside Aidan and Ori tugging Dean’s elbow. 

“It’s so good to see you again! I haven’t been to Erebor in so long. Not since your Uncle gave me these lands! I really missed you, Fili. Did you miss me?” He batted his eyelashes and Dean felt ill.

“Adam - Ori - sorry, I’m just not feeling well,” he said. He wasn’t. He was before, but no longer. 

“I understand,” his fingers curled into Dean’s arm. “Can I make it better? Like I used to?”

Oh please no. Not right, not right at all. It’s a bad dream. _Dean, hang onto that thought. You might be onto something there, y’know? I don’t want you to forget that._

“I’m fine, thanks. Just sleep, all I want is peaceful, undisturbed sleep.” The group continued on towards the bedrooms.

Dean stumbled on the stone, unnerved by Ori and very uncomfortable. He brought his hand up along the wall to steady himself, gently leaning forward to rest his forehead on the stones; the blinding white pain shot through his eyes, and Dean collapsed.

* * *

“Your two co-workers are fortunate to have survived,” the Doctor explained to the large group of men in the trauma ward's waiting room. “But they’ve suffered serious injuries in the crash. They’re stable but we’re going to schedule some tests to determine the extent of their injuries. Both are unconscious and we’re scheduling an MRI for them, and the neurologist will be in tomorrow.”

“How long before they wake?”

“We don’t know that yet. Their bodies have been heavily taxed. If one were to wake, we might place him into an induced coma to give him time to recuperate.”

John sank heavily into a chair. “We shouldn’t have let them go on their own.”

The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. It may have happened to any of you. Don’t worry, we’ll keep a good eye on them. I can’t permit all of you to visit at once, but you’re welcome to go in two at time. We’ve put them into the same room as well. I have to check in on them and some other patients. If you need me, the nurses’ station can page me.”

Richard nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

Adam sat beside John, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything were to happen to them! I just feel...guilty, somehow.”

“I think we all do, to a degree,” William replied. “The young troublemakers we were all looking out for. Who knew it would happen in reality?”

Richard nodded. “What did Peter say?”

Jed held up his phone, having called the director. “He’s flying down in the morning. The shooting break has been moved forward, so if any of us want to leave, we can. Once the doctor knows what’s happening...he’ll decide what to do in the long term.”

“I can’t go home when they’re stuck here,” Jimmy said. “I’ll stay.”

Richard moved towards the door. “I really need to see them,” he said. “They’re family. Did anybody else want to go in now?”

Adam shook his head. “I do...but not yet. They said Aidan had a black eye and cuts...I don’t know that I can see that, yet.” He turned, leaning up against Mark’s shoulder in chair beside him; his screen brother wrapped an arm around him.

Richard placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “That’s fine. They would understand.” His eyes lifted to the rest. “Anybody?”

“I’ll go,” Graham replied. The Scot was concerned for their young cast members, but at present more concerned for Richard, who he could help through his own emotions. They looked to the others, still caught in various stages of grief, anger and shock. 

Richard nodded, heading to the nurses’ station with Graham behind him and the pair were admitted to the small double room. The occupants of the two beds were hooked up to a number of IVs and monitors, and Richard flinched as he looked over the bandages over Dean’s bruised hand. He felt himself overcome with sadness, and gently lay his hand on Dean’s fingers. Despite having brought his temperature back up to normal, the fingers still felt impossibly cold. 

On the other side of the room, Graham hovered over Aidan’s bruised face, looking distraught. “I’d take their place if I could,” he said, a hand hovering over Aidan’s arm but too afraid to touch the damaged young man. 

“As would I.” Richard leaned over Dean and began whispering. “Hi Dean. I just want you to know that we’re all here, and we’ll all be visiting you. I’ll visit daily, I promise. Can’t leave my nephews to fight this on their own, can I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, Richard. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting and kudos! Much appreciated.  
> Blogging my writing (and a few other things) at [Tumblr](http://furynz.tumblr.com).


	8. Stew and Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean struggles with his situation; the warlock delivers a terrible prediction.

Dean heard a soft whispering voice and his eyes fluttered open. Clockwise. Reset. Clockwise. His eyes scrunched closed again, waiting for the spinning to pass. “Richard,” he muttered. “Is that you? Richard?”

_I heard it too, Dean. It was Richard!_

“Morning, sunshine,” the lazy voice replied.

“Aidan?” Dean slowly opened his eyes again, rolling over to find himself staring at Aidan’s hip. Dean turned his gaze up and was met by Aidan’s brown eyes looking back down. He was snacking on a rather large bread roll, honey drizzling from the sides onto the pewter plate.

“About time you woke up. Feel any better?” His words were nearly unintelligible while his mouth was full. Again. Aidan was eating, yet again. 

Dean sighed and closed his eyes again. “Yeah. What happened?”

Aidan chewed noisily for a moment and finally swallowed. “You leaned against the wall and then just fell over. Graham carried you here. They had two rooms set aside for you and I, but I thought it would be best if we shared the same one, you know how you get.”

“How do I get?” Dean asked, annoyed.

“Like a little child standing one aisle from his mum. Terrified and screaming, snot bubbling out of his nose. You miss me terribly when I’m not around, admit it.”

“Fuck off.”

“Gladly. I need more food,” Aidan bounced from the bed, moving towards the door.

“Wait! I’m hungry too, you can show me the way to the kitchen?” Dean swung the blanket off and looked down, startled himself and swung the blanket back over. “Aidan, where are my clothes?”

“On the chair.”

“Who took them off?” Dean asked but didn’t want to hear the answer. He stood and carefully wrapped the blanket around himself.

“Ori,” Aidan giggled. 

“You’re shitting me,” Dean felt faint. Why was this happening to him? He was suddenly overwhelmed with an urge to be at home or sitting on the beach at Takapuna with his dog or with his brother screwing around, or chatting to his parents. He wanted his life back. Tears sprung to his eyes, his knees gave out and he fell to the bed heavily.

“Yeah, I’m just kidding. It was me, but I closed my eyes, promise. Put them -” Aidan paused mid-sentence and Dean heard his bare feet padding around the room. “Deano.” An arm slipped over his shoulder and he turned away, embarrassed to be overcome by emotion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, you’re fine,” Dean cut in. “Just...just upset and trying to figure out why we’re here an all. I don’t want to be here, Aidan. I want to go home.”

“Well it’s kinda cool. We have weapons to play with and all, and something to do. Maybe we do this quest and see where it takes us? Maybe we can go home that way.”

_Might as well. I’m still trying to sort things out on this end. I’m really sorry, Dean. I know we’d rather be elsewhere, but...something’s not right and I’m trying to figure it out. Remember Richard’s voice earlier, Dean? I want you to keep thinking about that. And try to remember the water, Dean. That felt so strong...I felt that we could grasp that, Dean. Grasp it and get out of here._

Dean took a deep breathe. “Can you just wait in the hall for me? I’ll get dressed.”

“Yeah, sure thing Deano.” Aidan was suddenly quiet and reserved, eyes downcast with flickering glances, but Dean hadn’t taken notice. He dressed and the pair walked through Ori’s castle in quiet, into the kitchen where Aidan declared he was no longer hungry. Dean sat at a small table in the kitchen, eating his meal while Aidan stood near, head bowed. 

_He’s worried for you._

Dean nodded and continued to eat the meal until he was comfortably full. Aidan was by his side again quickly. “Ori said we should take horses and head to the warlock’s cave. He might know something that can help us.”

“Horses,” Dean sighed. “I really don’t enjoy riding horses.” 

“I don’t think we have much choice. And it can’t hurt, can it?”

“We don’t know where to go.”

“I think Ori was going to send Graham - Dwalin - with us,” Aidan said with a hint of a smile. “Won’t that be helpful? Someone who fits in around here and we’re comfortable with.”

Dean silently agreed, still too upset from his earlier episode to be energetic about this plan, and moved past the kitchen back towards the great hall they’d feasted in the night before. He didn’t want to see Ori or Graham, but he didn’t want to stay in this castle either. The lesser of two evils lay ahead.

“Dean, please,” Aidan called. A gentle hand closed over Dean’s shoulder and he paused, casting a glance back at Aidan’s worried eyes. “Dean, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have taken the clothes off if I’d known-”

Dean turned, putting his hands on Aidan’s shoulders and drawing him in closer; but the slightly taller man stared at his feet. “It’s not about the clothes, I swear. I’m not upset with you. I am a little uncomfortable around Ori, so yes, let’s go see this warlock and get on with this.”

Aidan’s brown eyes glanced up the floor, connecting with Dean’s eyes. That look the camera loved from him, where he looked so sweet. Dean couldn’t help but smile and leaned in until their foreheads touched. “If we’re going to do this, I’m glad you’re doing this with me. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. Thanks for looking after me when I uh, y’know.”

“Collapsed like a soft-serve ice cream on a hot day?” 

Dean smiled. “You’re thinking of food again, aren’t you? But that’s one way to put it, yeah. Thanks.” 

“Sure thing.”

“Let’s go get on these stupid horses and meet this warlock.”

* * *

“Hello gentlemen,” the doctor walked into the small hospital room, a clipboard underneath her arm. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ll be taking them for their scans this morning. They’ll go individually, so you can remain with one of them while the other is away.”

Graham and Adam looked to each other and nodded. “Which one is going first?” Adam asked.

“Let’s see,” the doctor took the clipboard and flipped to the second page. “Aidan. Which is this one,” she said, moving over to the brunet’s bed, checking the tags, still familiarizing herself with the new patients. “But you’re more than welcome to remain with -”

“Dean,” Adam supplied. “This one is Dean,” he hovered by the bed anxiously. 

“Dean,” she smiled reassuringly. “Keep talking to them though. Plenty of coma patients wake to reveal they’ve heard snippets of conversation. It may help bring them find their way back to the land of consciousness.” She spoke easily, familiar with these sort of injuries. “I’ll be back in a couple hours to take Aidan down to the machine. Keep chatting with him until then.”

Adam looked at her incredulously. He couldn’t understand how she could sound so callous about it, like this sort of event happened every day. “Graham,” he said, voice shaking.

“It’s okay, Adam.” Graham knew. He knew Adam better than Adam knew himself. “She’s dealt with this before, and that’s a good thing, right? She’s best qualified to figure out what’s happening in those hard little skulls of theirs.”

Adam smiled weakly. “Yeah. I suppose so. But...it just hurts so much.”

“Let’s do what she suggested. We’ll talk to them, bring in some music, watch some tv with them. We can bring in movies, they both liked old movies, didn’t they? We’ll keep them company as long as they need it. Us and the others.”

Adam moved over to Aidan, gently brushing his finger’s up and down Aidan’s arm, whispering in his ear. Graham watched fondly and turned to Dean, gently stroking his hair out of his face. Dean had been complaining on the flight to Dunedin that he needed a haircut; it was long enough it that it began to curl again. He had joked that he didn’t want to end up looking like Aidan. Graham smiled at the memory, pushing the curl back.

* * *

A strong wind gusted, tugging at Dean’s hair, and his hand brushed up and over to push the curls back. On the horse beside him, Aidan’s face was scrunched up as he stuck a finger in his ear, scratching vigorously.

“What the hell are you doing? Don’t damage your eardrum, mate.”

“I think a mosquito flew in my ear,” he said, shaking his head. “Small noise buzzing that won’t go away.”

_Tell him to listen, Dean. Listen to the noise. And feel the wind in your hair. Is the wind blowing, Dean? Is it?_

Dean looked around at the still trees, his brow furrowing. “Is it saying anything interesting?”

Aidan paused and stared at him. “You going to conk out on me again? 

“No, just curious,” he grinned. “Just listen next time, okay?” 

“Yeah, sure.” Aidan looked up to Graham, who led the small party through the forest on a well-traveled path. “Dwalin, are we there yet?”

“Just about, lad,” the soldier replied, and Aidan turned, grinning at Dean. 

“We’re about to get some answers!”

“That, or a listen to a crazy old bloke ramble on.”

* * *

The nameless guards that had escorted them took up the horses’ reins, and Graham knocked on the door of a small house hidden in between the trees. A rock face was behind the home, and Dean and Aidan exchanged glances. 

“I thought the warlock lived in the cave, not a house?” Dean whispered.

“He does,” Graham explained. “But his brother lives here.”

The door of the rickety log house opened, and a man dressed in shades of red with a closely shaved head peered out. “Dwalin!” he cried, wrapping his arms around the burly Scot. 

“Gloin,” Graham returned the embrace, then they butted heads, grinning enthusiastically. Aidan and Dean took a step back together, staring at Peter. Or Gloin, as it were.

“And what do we have here?” Peter asked.

“Surely you remember them. They’ve grown, but can’t you remember two wee lads running around their uncle’s knees, batting wooden swords?”

Peter squinted, staring between Aidan and Dean until his eyes went wide. “Oh, my heavens. Your highnesses,” he fell to a knee, bowing deeply. 

“Um, hello?” Dean said, watching in confusion as the man stayed bowed, head down. Aidan shrugged.

“Up with you,” Graham reached down, pulling him up by the arm. “Don’t worry, they’re not fussed with formalities,” he winked at the pair. “Just Fili and Kili will suffice.”

Peter stood at full height again, his hands clasped pleasantly behind his back. “My guess is that you’re here for my dear brother.”

Dean and Aidan stood dumbly, allowing Graham to talk for them. “They are. You will have to make some allowances, they have been ill recently and struggle to remember parts of their lives.”

“I see. Please, come into my home,” he opened the door wide and it squeaked on its iron hinge. 

“Apologies, dear Gloin,” Graham replied. “But their quest is urgent, and they seek your brother’s aid to continue it.”

Peter nodded, walking away from the door and back towards the rock face. “Of course, I understand. I will see if he is able to help at this time; sometimes his gift is stronger than at other times.” The group approached the wall, and Aidan and Dean noticed a sliver of a entrance in the face; a small glow reflecting on the wall from the interior. “Please wait here,” Peter instructed, turning to his side to move inside the hill.

Graham turned to the pair, smiling. “We’ll see him and with any luck, he’ll give us some instruction and you’ll be off tomorrow to find the stone and return Erebor to its rightful state. It will be wonderful, lads. To have the mountain back to its rightful owners, and all its riches!” 

“He’s ready,” Peter came back through the entrance. “One at a time. You first,” his eyes moved to Aidan. 

Aidan nodded, disappearing through the crack into the chamber. Dean found a fallen rock nearby, hoisting himself up onto it. _Dean, something’s happening. There’s a couple people here we don’t know. They’re taking Aidan. Dean, where are they taking him?_

Dean, Graham and John sat quietly around the entrance for sometimes; the air was still and Dean listened for birds or wind. There was none, and it unnerved him. Graham and John began to chat off to the side and Dean picked at his tunic, listening for other noises. There was an occasional beep, and he frowned. _Yes Dean. Listen carefully. That’s good. But right now, we need to address the issue of Aidan missing._

“How you feeling today, lad?” Graham interrupted the silence, looking carefully at Dean’s forehead. “Does it still hurt?”

“Does what still hurt?” _Shit Dean, we’ve been over this. Do not touch your forehead. It does not go down well for us. Just leave it be. Just say, ‘it’s fine’. Can you do that for us, Dean?_

“It’s fine.”

Graham shook his head. “Still a little out of it. No matter, your brother and I will take good care of you.”

_You’ll be fine if you don’t touch it. Now Dean, something’s happened. Aidan’s gone. They took Aidan, and I’m worried, he needs to come back. Can you feel that Dean? Aidan’s not here. It’s not right! Dean! He’s been gone far too long!_

“Aidan!” Dean suddenly slid off the rock, stumbling to the entrance. His stomach twisted in agony, apprehension knotting it. Gloin jumped in front to block his path, and Graham wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him back.

“Fili, no,” Graham said, slipping his arm down, holding him against his chest. “Don’t interrupt. He’s fine.”

“He’s not fine! I need to go in!” Dean struggled in Graham’s grasp, although the larger man held him carefully as to not hurt him. _Get Aidan, Dean! Find him!_

“Fili, please, I don’t want to hurt you. Gloin can check in a few minutes, I’m sure he’s fine,” Graham looked to Peter, who nodded. Dean however, was caught up in his struggles, trying to get rid of the hands wrapped around his shoulders. “Stop! Fili!”

Moments later Aidan exited the mountain face, catching sight of Graham holding Dean, arms pinned, who struggled ferociously. “Dean!” the brunet shouted, running to help Dean; Graham let the younger man go, and they crashed into each other in a hug. Graham was forgotten in an instant; Peter ran into the cave.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Aidan looked between Dean and Graham apprehensively.

“Me? I’m fine! What happened to you!” Dean leaned back, looking him over. He still bore the scars of his earlier injuries, but otherwise was fine. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing. It’s Oin, Dean, as you would expect. I just sat there for awhile and he mumbled for a bit. Then told me to go north across some plains, follow a river into a forest, and find a waterfall. The stone’s behind a waterfall. Then we go back to the forest, but he couldn’t tell me anymore past that. He went a bit pale and asked me to leave.”

Dean grabbed Aidan into another hug. “I just had the worst feeling. Something told me things weren’t right.” _Aidan’s back, Dean! They brought him back! He’s okay. Thank god, they’re putting him back. Wait. Dean, they’re rolling us in the bed. They’re taking us now Dean, oh god, where are they taking us? Dean!_

A hand clapped onto his shoulder. “Oin is ready to see you now,” Peter said, motioning the the cave. “Please, while his visions are still clear.”

Dean glanced back to Aidan, who nodded. “It’s fine. I’ll be right here waiting for you. Don’t worry.” He smiled, and Dean felt reassured.

Dean turned to enter the cave. It was a long, narrow entrance and he felt confined as if the walls would press together and hold him there forever. He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when the passage opened into a comfortably decorated cavern, with lanterns, cushions and a bed. In the middle of the room was John, sitting over a pot on a small fire. A strong smell wafted from the pot, assailing Dean’s senses.

“Sit, my prince,” John said simply. Dean obeyed, sitting cross legged across the fire from the older man.

“I am Oin. You are Fili. Is that correct?” 

Dean paused a moment. “Yes.”

“Are you certain?”

“Not always.”

A smile crossed his lips. “Good. I understand.” He reached into the pot, grabbing a handle and giving it a stir.

“What’s in there?” Dean asked, peering into the murky liquid. 

“Dinner. Stew.” He lifted the handle, a ladle rising filled with meats and vegetables. Dean frowned. Not some mystical liquid that would show him the stone’s location then. He was a little disappointed. 

“Let’s continue. Close your eyes, and listen to my voice. Do not speak or it will destroy my concentration. It may take some time, but eventually I will see glimpses of your future.”

Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes and concentrating on the smell of the stew. It smelled quite delicious, and he heard his stomach rumble. 

“You travel with your brother,” John spoke. “North through the plains, across the river into the forest. You will encounter trouble at the river’s edge. Such a strong vision; much stronger than your brothers,” his voice rasped. “Stay with him. Don’t let them take you from your brother.”

Dean wanted to ask who he referred to, but remembered to remain silent and vowed that he wouldn’t let himself be separated from Aidan. He cocked his head, waiting for more of the older man’s vision.

“Find the waterfall in the forest. There is a cave, wrought with dangers. Find the stone. Return to-” John gasped loudly, and Dean’s eyes shot open as the visionary keeled over, grasping at his heart. Dean leaped to his feet. Now was a not a good time for John to have a heart attack, and Dean panicked.

“John! John! Are you okay? Gloin! Dwalin!”

“No,” the voice trembled. “No, it cannot be.”

“What? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I am well," his voice grew heavy with grief. "But I fear for the future, young Prince Fili.”

Dean relaxed, sitting back on his haunches assured that John wasn't going to fall over in front of him. “What happens in my future? What happens to me?”

“Not you,” he said softly, reaching out a hand gently. It wavered before resting on Dean’s knee. “I fear your brother is going to die. That is why I could not see his future past the forest. Your brother will be killed in that forest. I’m sorry.”

It was as if a nail had just been pounded into the back of his skull. Dean stumbled out of the cave and fell to his knees, vomiting into the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blogging and things over at [Tumblr](http://furynz.tumblr.com).


	9. River Crossings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's decided to fly the boys from Dunedin to Wellington and Auckland hospitals; Dean, Aidan and Graham reach the river's edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So terribly sorry about that...uh...4 month gap? Yeah. Much love to [Spyderzw3b](http://spyderzw3b.tumblr.com/) in particular for the encouragement to get another chapter out, as well as the anons and any others who sent messages about it. It feels a bit rough coming back to his story so I hope this chapter is okay!

“And Dean is done, gentlemen,” the nurse announced, pushing the bed back into the hospital room.

Peter stood and moved over to Dean’s bed, while his screen brother John sat at the small table in the corner, finishing his stew.

“How is he?” John took another bite of his stew, the spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl.

“The same,” the nurse replied. “It will take awhile for the doctor to review the scans and see if it tells her anything.” He departed, leaving the four men alone.

Peter rested a hand on Dean’s giving it a squeeze. “He looks so pale,” he sighed.

“Dean always looked pale,” John tried to make light of the situation, as he often did. This time, it fell terribly flat. He sighed and stood, moving over to Dean’s side as well. “Time to wake up, Dean. There’s a lot of people missing you right now.”

* * *

Aidan wouldn’t quit pestering Dean about the visions he’d been shown; Dean just mumbled it off, claiming to be the same as his. They headed back to Ori’s keep in silence. Dean rode at the rear where he could keep his eyes on Aidan’s back; he was in fact shaken to his core with the predictions, and needed to see Aidan in his view, well and not dead.

Dean was feeling hungry again, but all he could smell was John’s, or Oin’s, stew despite how far they were from the cave. _Why can you still smell it, Dean? Keep listening. Keep feeling, keep smelling. You need to find something you can latch onto, Dean._

Dean frowned and shook his head, trying to force the thoughts from his mind. He wasn’t in the mood for it. Aidan looked back concerned. Dean’s mood grew more dismal, and he didn’t know what to do, if anything. When they reached the keep, they both felt grateful for Graham’s intervention.

“The seer explained that they must travel north to find the stone,” Graham told Ori, who was scooting closer to Dean. Aidan shifted position, placing himself between the two. Dean gave Aidan a small smile, who nodded back, relieved to see some positive emotion from his friend.

“I suggest we pack and they can begin their journey tomorrow. If they tarry too long, the dragon may threaten more lands.”

Ori nodded. “I’ll arrange horses and supplies.”

“And I would like to accompany them,” Graham said. “I fear they are not prepared for what’s ahead, nor do they know the path. I have been to Erebor many times, and once we find the stone I can lead them back.”

“Thank you Dwalin,” Ori said. “I’ll miss you here, but I can’t deny that your presence will soothe my worries.”

Dean and Aidan agreed happily at having Graham as an escort; neither had any idea which way they were going, and didn’t think they’d survive more than a few days in the wild on their own. 

_I think you’ll find that you’re far more accomplished at fighting than you think, Dean. Because you’re constructing this._

Dean scratched at his ear.

* * *

Morning arrived with a clear cloudless sky. The temperature was pleasant, and a light breeze caressed the tree tops. Down in the courtyard, four horses had been set up to ride; three for Dean, Aidan and Graham, and a last for supplies. Graham wore chain armor carried axes to nobody’s surprise. Dean found himself in a dark maroon leather outfit, with a chainmail shirt placed over the top. He was relieved that the breeches fit far better than the first pair. Aidan was dressed in in navy blue leather, but not given chainmail; Graham claimed it would interfere with his archery. Dean shrugged and assumed he knew best. Aidan felt vulnerable and couldn’t understand why he didn’t have the same. 

Ori bid them goodbye, kissing them all on their cheeks; Dean was relieved to receive the same treatment. They trotted north for several days through fairly open countryside. When they stopped through the day, Graham hunted wild game and encouraged Dean and Aidan to practice their weapons. Dean was surprised how natural the pair of swords felt in his hands, and Aidan was hitting his mark more often than not. _Thank the stunt team when you get back, Dean._

They weren’t far from the river when they’d stopped for a rest. Graham went hunting, leaving the pair alone to practice their weapons.

...airplane….fixed...ambulance...

Dean frowned. _You’ve been hearing the voices too, haven’t you, Dean?_

“No,” he whispered.

“What?” Aidan spun around on his horse. “Say something?”

“Uh, no, just humming,” Dean said. “Hmmm.”

Listen, Dean. _I can hear them now. Can you?_

He paused; hearing on the wind in the trees.

_Dean, bloody hell. There’s no wind. Stop dismissing it and LISTEN._

...stable...fly….Wellington…

_Wellington. Did you hear that, Dean?_

Wellington. He’d have to go shopping and get more bread and milk when he arrived back at his rental on the Miramar peninsula. He was meant to throw it away before they left for the location shoot, but he’s pretty sure he left the milk on the bench. Oh, it was going to be rancid--

_Dean, stop it. Listen to the voices again and stop thinking._

“Dean?” 

He blinked and glanced up at Aidan.

“Yeah?”

“You just...you haven’t been the same for a bit. Especially we saw the warlock, Oin. Er, John,” Aidan licked his lips, trying to keep people and names straight. 

“Yeah, sorry. Just been thinking. You know. Want to go home and all.” He reached out and patted the horse’s mane. 

“But we are going home. To Erebor.”

“Not this home. Home home. New Zealand. Wellington, Auckland, whichever. If I get to one I can get to the other. Don’t you miss your family?”

“Yeah, I suppose, but something tells me everything is going to be alright too. I guess I’m just trying to make the best of this until something changes. There’s really not much we can do, is there?” Aidan cocked his head to the side, biting at his lip. It was adorable. It was no wonder girls tripped and drooled while trying to get his autograph. 

Dean sighed. “Yeah. I guess.”

_I’m working on it Dean. Just hang on, mate, We’re getting out of this...place. Hey, can you hear the voices? They just changed. Listen, Dean. Listen._

Dean winced; his head feeling sore and cluttered. But he listened. There were indeed words, words carried by the wind. Something about flying?

_Flying! I heard that too! And Wellington. Dean...I think we’re going somewhere._

* * *

“That’s right,” the Doctor explained. “Mr. Jackson has paid for both of them to be flown to Wellington. Aidan will be relocated to Wellington Hospital, but Dean is being flown to Auckland to the North Shore Hospital to be near his family. I’ve been in contact with neurologists at both hospitals and sent up their files. They’re both wonderful Doctors and I’m sure they’ll be very well looked after.”

Richard and Graham nodded gratefully; they have taken it upon themselves to keep up with the news and inform everyone else. “That sounds good. When was the flight booked?”

“Tomorrow morning. They’ll both be flown to Wellington Airport; an ambulance will offload Aidan and take him on to the hospital. The plane will fuel up and continue to Auckland.”

“And it’s safe for them to travel?”

“They’ve been stable for nearly a week. At this stage, gentlemen, we’re waiting on them to come back to us. There’s little we can do to help them, other then visit with them and talk to them.”

“Is it a good idea to fly them to separate places?” Graham asked. “I know Dean’s family is up there, but down here, he’d have company non-stop. There’s so many cast and crew that would visit.”

The Doctor nodded. “I understand your concerns, but his family can offer familiarity that may help him come back sooner. I think it’s a good idea that he continues on.”

The two actors nodded, a little upset at this prospect yet understanding.

* * *

Graham, Aidan and Dean arrived at a wide river the next morning. Graham paced his horse up and down the river while Aidan and Dean practiced their weapons at a small camp by the river, waiting for his return.

“Hey Deano.”

“Yeah?”

“How do you think we got here?”

Dean laughed but was surprised by Aidan’s curiosity, as he usually was more dismissive of their situation. 

“No idea. Just woke up on the ground.”

“Yeah, same. But why both of us?”

Dean shrugged, swinging one of his twin swords into the oak tree in front of him. “Haven’t figured that out yet. But I’m really glad you’re here.”

Aidan grinned and nocked an arrow, aiming for his own tree. “Yeah, me too.”

_Hey, Dean! Can you feel that? We’re being moved! Aidan too. I know it. They gave us a nice warm blanket, can you feel it? So comfortable. We’re being taken for a drive. Yeah, going for a drive, Dean. Oh, I hope it goes better than the last one._

Dean paused, trying to make sense of what he was hearing, but when nothing he came he simply continued to practice. 

“Shot! Check that out Deano. I’m getting really good at this,” Aidan grinned, pointing at the three arrows lodged close to each other within the tree. “Check that out. This is actually quite easy. How you finding the swords?”

Dean swung one and then the other, his motions fluid and relaxed yet full of strength. “It feels so natural,” he said. “I don’t have any way to measure it...but it feels right.”

_Dean. Dean, listen. There’s some loud noises Dean, and some people putting us into a plane. Can you hear them talking, Dean? We’re going to Wellington! That’s closer to home Dean, so much closer!_

“Dean? Earth, or wherever we are to Deeeannno,” Aidan sung out. 

“Yeah?” Dean’s head jerked up. “Sorry. Was just thinking about Wellington.”

“You know, I really don’t miss the wind there. It just does bad things to my hair,” Aidan reached up and tried to smooth out a few curls.

Dean grinned and shook his head. “It’s hopeless, mate. You ought jump in the river and give it a wash.”

“It’ll come out worse. A fluffy bird nest. And that river’s filthy. Probably be full of sticks and maybe an eel or two.”

Dean laughed, and Aidan laughed right back with him. And for a moment, everything felt so right in the world. Just two mates having a laugh together; content in each other’s company. 

Unfortunately, Graham’s reappearance ended it too soon.

“My Princes,” he said in greeting. “There is a ferry five miles upstream from here. I’ve secured passage and the ferryman will be waiting for us. Pack your gear and let’s move on.”

_Hey Dean. Dean, you listening to me? I just remembered. Remembered what John said? You know John, Oin, the magical seer who sees stuff? No? Doesn’t matter. Oh, did I mention the plane is taking off? Plane trip!_

Dean scratched his head, inadvertently brushing the prominent lump on his forehead. He moaned and pitched forward, and the John’s words returned to him: _North through the plains, across the river into the forest. You will encounter trouble at the river’s edge._

* * *

Dean had once again gone from relaxed to tense. However Graham and Aidan were relaxed, and there seemed to be no reason for worry. It wasn’t an hour later that they were on the ferry, holding the reins of the horses tightly and focused on keeping them calm. The river moved swiftly, and the ferry drifted downstream as they went. Dean was pale, white knuckles gripping the leather strap.

_Dean, I think we’re about to land in Wellington! The weather is clear and it’s not too windy, so it should be a good landing. I think we’ve made it here safely, Dean._

Both Aidan and Graham noticed, exchanging words of worry over Dean’s condition. He merely gave them a grim smile, waiting for the seer’s prediction to come true. However the journey was swift, the river high and flowing fast, and they safely reached the northern side and disembarked.

_Maybe he was wrong, Dean. He is just a strange old man, isn’t he? Oin, I mean, not the real John. He’s funny. We like him. But we’re across the river, and the forest is just ahead. And if we’ve crossed the river safely, then surely perhaps the prediction about Aidan won’t be true either. Oh, hey Dean, they’re unloading us from the plane and taking us inside. I wonder where we’re going?_

Dean took a deep, calming breath.

“Let’s settle down for some lunch,” Graham said, reaching into a pack and pulling out some dried fruit and nuts. “We’ll head north and make camp, before the wood grows too thick and the enemy too near.”

“Enemies?” Dean’s ears perked, as he sat and began to eat. “What enemies?”

“Elves,” Graham growled. “Lots of them in these woods. Can’t be trusted. But the wood is thick, and there’s a common path travelers use; the elves usually let travellers be. If we’re quiet and draw no attention we should pass like anybody else.”

Dean and Aidan exchanged frowns when there was a loud crash and shout from the direction of the ferry. Graham stood, withdrawing his twin axes. “Wait here; keep your weapons ready. I’ll check it out,” he said, disappearing between the trees. 

_We’re moving again, Dean. They’ve just taken Aidan out the other door...but...Dean? Dean, they’re taking us back towards the plane. Dean, what’s happening?_

Dean felt a cool prickle over his skin and stood, pulling his swords. “Something’s not right,” he said, dropping into a defensive stance and looking around. “Something’s happening, Aidan.”

“Yeah, we’re eating and then getting on with this journey,” he said, plopping another berry into his mouth. 

“Aidan, get up and get your bow. Trust me.”

_Dean, we’re being put back in the plane, but AIDAN’S NOT COMING WITH US. DEAN, DEAN!_

Anxiety and panic coursed through Dean, and he flicked his head around, looking to the sides. 

“Calm down, mate. Graham will take care of it. He’s a badass, remember?”

“Aidan--”

And at that moment, a group of large men burst into the clearing. Dean paused, consumed by shock; he recognized those faces. The stunties. So many of the stunt team. And with them, Manu and Conan; the pair which had portrayed Azog and Bolg.

“Hey!” Aidan called cheerfully. “Hey you guys! Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

_No Dean, no no no--_

Conan sneered and lunged forward with a knife, swinging at Dean. Conan was a large man; Dean ducked away easily, bringing up his sword to block. “Aidan, shoot him down!” 

The rest of the group began to withdraw weapons, heading for the pair of actors.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Aidan fumbling, blinking and trembling. He lifted the bow and aimed; meanwhile, Dean continued to swing, but mostly just dodged. “I don’t know if I can,” Aidan said. “We know these guys!”

“This isn’t those guys! They’re going to kill us! Pretend it’s Azog and shoot!”

With that, Aidan let an arrow fly; one stuntman fell, clutching his leg. Dean managed to land his first hit too, severing an arm. The sight should have disgusted him, but his adrenaline had kicked in and he continued to fight, taking no notice and trying to ignore the familiar faces.

But despite the amazing skill that the actors displayed, they were truly overwhelmed; eventually several were onto Aidan, who withdrew his sword, dropping his bow to the dirt. Dean fought valiantly, managing to wound several, before Manu was in front of him, knocking the swords from his hands. A very solid fist connected with his temple, and Dean stumbled, falling to his knees; his swords slipped from his grasp. A haze enveloped his mind and he vomited his lunch. His vision went black.

_Dean, Dean no! Stay alert, stay conscious! We’re taking off, Dean. They’re flying us away from Aidan!_

“Dean!” Aidan shouted; followed by a row of swears. But Dean merely looked up and blinked; within moments a length of leather was tying his hands behind him, and a large stuntman hoisted him over his shoulder. He blacked out again momentarily; they’d moved about 50 meters. He struggled weakly and looked back; Aidan lay bloody in the clearing, hand outstretched towards Dean; injured but alive. 

He was carted out of the clearing back to the river’s edge; a series of canoes waited and he was thrown into one, the stunties, Manu and Conan climbing in and shoving off. The swift current eventually caught hold, and Dean managed to sit up in time to see Graham at the river’s edge, shouting; beside him, Aidan clutched his bloody side, watching sadly.

Dean suddenly felt very alone.


End file.
